


The Fire in my Veins and The Joy in my Soul

by joannakth



Series: The Stony!Verse [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst in the middle, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Slow Build, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mild Avengers battles related violence, primarily stony fluff with snatches of Bruce/OFC because I love Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joannakth/pseuds/joannakth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Except how statistically it really isn’t. Less than 3% of the general population identify orange as their favorite color. People hate orange,” Tony swallows thickly. “In fact, most people can’t stand orange. I mean, sure orange is a fun color at parties or nice to wear for a night out but people don’t commit to orange. Most people don’t even objectively like orange for its aesthetic beauty or even appreciate its importance in the color wheel. But, you love…orange.”</p><p>Or how Steve and Tony eventually find happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire in my Veins and The Joy in my Soul

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is a behemoth, haha! But more importantly it's in the same universe as my other Stony story The World's Most Underpaid Babysitter. It covers material from before and after that story and though it's not necessary to read that story first, it might be helpful. It's also part of a larger universe I write with my good friend bronwins. We've created an original character that's in a relationship with Bruce named Betty Schaer (not in anyway related to Marvel's Betty Ross). Her role in this story is pretty minimal, so if OCs bother you you can avoid her easily. But if you enjoy her bronwins is working on a Bruce/Betty behemoth so there will be more material about them soon. Hope you enjoy!

“So,” Tony says, pouring out drinks for the two of them. “You’re probably wondering why I called you up here.”

“Sort of,” Steve responds, uneasy as Tony fills his own glass just little bit higher than the socially acceptable amount. “Do you ever slow down with that stuff?”

“Are you serious? You’ve been living in my tower for approximately three seconds and you’re already getting judgy?”

“Look,” Steve says, slipping into that tone of voice that is 100% back-alley Brooklyn kid, _come at me._ “I’m here because the team’s here. The fact that you own the building means absolutely nothing to me.”

Tony looks like he’s winding up to come back at Steve with all he’s got for a few seconds, all coiled up tension and bared teeth like a dog with its fur raised, and then it’s all gone at once. Tony simply takes a long sip of his drink and lets out a long sigh.

“Well,” he mutters. “There’s two things we have in common. Stubbornness and snark.”

“What?” Steve wonders, slightly dazed and still coming down from the abrupt end to their anticipated blow out.

“I called you up here to try and get to know you.” Tony finally plops down in the seat across from him. He looks at Steve and it’s the closest he’s ever seen Tony get to sincere yet. “We’re all living together now and things were strained between us for a good amount of time on the helicarrier and I don’t want to live like that forever. So we’re going to have to suck it up and learn to like each other on some sort of personal level. Because respecting each other as teammates was fine when we were just teammates but it won’t cut it now that we’re roomies.”

Tony let out a sigh when he was done. If Pepper and he were still together she’d probably be making some sort of commentary about being proud of his emotional growth as a human being. He takes another sip of his drink and pushes that emotional wound to the back of his mind. Steve eyes him for a moment before nodding and taking a hesitant sip of his own drink.

“So,” Tony says, sinking back into his chair. “Steve Rogers. Tell me something that’s not in the file. Something we can bond over.”

“Uh,” Steve fumbles to think of something, matching Tony’s intense gaze. He’s grown to respect Tony in a sort of detached way after watching him work on the helicarrier and risk his neck to save New York. But there’s always been a barrier between them where Tony’s cynical humor and Steve’s optimistic dedication to the cause just didn’t mesh. But Tony _is_ right. They have to learn to at least be amicable. There has to be _something._

“I was good friends with your father,” Steve tries.

“Oh _God,_ ” Tony practically moans. He rubs a frustrated hand across his forehead and clutches his drink. “We’re shelving that conversation for another day. Next please.”

Steve fumbles again, becoming more and more frustrated before spitting out. “Well how about you? Don’t you have any topics of conversation, Mr. Genius?”

“How about science?” Tony says. “I love science. You know anything about…anything?”

“Tony, really?” Steve huffs, exasperated. “You heard me describing that circuit breaker on the helicarrier. You think I’m a scientist?”

“Uhhh….” Tony trails off into awkward silence. It’s quiet except for the clinking of the ice in their glasses.

“Know any good jokes?” Tony blurts out and Steve rolls his eyes at pushes his chair out from beneath the table.

Steve clears his throat and says, “This was a nice idea Tony, but I just don’t think it’s going to-“

“What’s your favorite color?” Tony asks, thoroughly ignoring Steve’s attempt to cut this whole exercise short. He looks up at him like Steve’s answer will unlock some great secret and it makes Steve question his sanity for a second.

“Orange,” Steve replies, settling back into his seat slowly. He’s still unsure about this whole thing.

“See, now that’s interesting,” Tony says with a large grin, leaning in close to get a better look at Steve across the table from him. “In a surprising way. I would’ve guessed red, white, or blue.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m not _actually_ a walking, talking American flag. Cap was…” He hesitates, not sure if this is too deep, too weird to share with a man he’s not even sure he really likes. “Cap was someone I became to do what Steve Rogers always wanted to do. What I still want to do.”

“And what is that?”

“The right thing.”

Tony looks at him appraisingly and Steve’s not sure if Tony is going to come back at him with a well-crafted, pessimistic barb or a change of subject so Steve strikes before Tony can speak again.

“And draw. Or paint. I was in art school before the war,” Steve tacks on in the hopes of distracting him. When he still doesn’t get a response other than a little nod he asks, “What’s yours?”

Tony shakes as if he’s been pulled violently out of a train of thought. “What’s my what?”

“Your favorite color.”

Tony grins at that, finishing off his drink and refilling it with well-practiced ease. “Red,” he replies. “Hot rod red. Cherry red.”

Steve rolls his eyes again, albeit a little more affectionately this time around. “How am I not even a little surprised?”

Tony laughs and it’s the first time Steve’s felt at ease since he walked through the doors to this tower, carrying all of his worldly possessions in one tiny, little box.

“Okay, so, 1945,” Tony muses aloud, scratching his beard absentmindedly in thought. “What would I know from 1945?” He pauses. “Movies! What was the last movie you saw in the theater?”

“All the way through?” Steve asks.

“Sure,” Tony agrees congenially. “Though I am curious about what movie was bad enough that you walked out of it early.”

Steve snorts but considers the question anyway. He scrunches up his face and rubs his thumb against the condensation on the side of his glass as he searches through old memories, memories before the war and Erskine. A lifetime and a half ago.

“ _Destination Tokyo_ , I think,” he says. He’s still a little unsure but it’s the best guess that he has and by the way Tony’s face lights up, it was a good answer.

“Cary Grant, huh?” Tony asks. “You have good taste.”

Steve perks up at that. “Oh yeah, I think I saw _The Philadelphia Story_ about five or six times in the theater.”

“Well look at that,” Tony says with a smile. He pushes away from the table and grabs his drink in one hand and Steve’s wrist with the other. Steve follows after him without resistance and as short as it was he thinks that Tony’s plan might just have worked.

He drags Steve in the elevator with him and presses the button to a floor Steve hasn’t been to yet. At Steve’s questioning look Tony just tips his glass towards him in a mock-toast, takes another sip, and says “That’s something I can work with.”

…

“I have to admit that I had a little bit of a crush on Cary Grant back in middle school,” Tony says as Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell trade quips on the screen.

“Didn’t we all,” Steve murmurs, completely immersed in the movie. Tony’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at Steve’s unfiltered confession. He spends a good five minutes imagining pre-serum Steve drooling over Walter Burns in the theater while Steve remains engrossed.

They have movie nights on Mondays and Thursdays, barring national emergencies, and have even gone out to dinner together a couple of times. The more time they spend together the more they realize that they have the same taste in more than just movies. They both love New York City and jazz. While Steve tends to like bikes better, he can’t deny the excitement he felt when Tony showed him his garage full of cars and said “Go nuts.” Sometimes Tony will bring Steve down to the lab with him and show him some new piece of armor or tech he’s cooking up for the team just to get his opinion. Steve will bring Tony meals down there if he stays down long enough. They’ve even come to laugh at each other’s biting sense of humor rather than fight over it.

“And here I thought I knew everything,” Tony says barely above a whisper, as he looks at Steve watching the movie.

“Hmm?” Steve hums in response, finally turning away to look at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Tony says, deciding not to pursue to the Cary Grant crush any further. He files it away for later. “I was just thinking that as much as we enjoy Cary, we have to start getting you into films made after 1945.”

“I don’t know. I tried to go to the movies a while back in Brooklyn, right after I had gotten out of the ice, and all they were playing was this movie… _Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter_?”

Steve looks so repulsed Tony can’t hold back his laugh. “Is that the one you walked out of?”

“It was so stupid, Tony. I could feel Abraham Lincoln rolling in his grave. I don’t think I’m prepared for 21st century movies.”

“Oh God, Steve, please” Tony pleads, still highly amused by the put off look on Steve’s face. “Don’t judge 21st century cinema on our frightening obsession with vampires and Tim Burton. That movie was a one off. Trust me. In fact, let me be your 21st century liaison!”

“Really, Tony?” Steve says, voice shaking with repressed laughter. “I think I can handle it on my own.”

“Obviously you can’t if you willingly paid money to watch a film that had the words Abraham Lincoln and Vampire Hunter in the title. At least let me show you some decent movies,” Tony counters, almost breaking the playful mood with how deathly serious he is about correcting Steve’s cinematic wrongs.

“Fine.” Steve says, breaking after a brief stare down. “No more vampires though.”

“No more vampires,” Tony says, fingers crossed behind his back.

Because he’s definitely going to show him _Twilight._

“Lay it on me, liaison.”

…

He knows somewhere deep, deep down that he should really just give the book back. But it would take a far stronger man than Tony to resist temptation when a tiny black book falls out of Steve Rogers’ back pocket.

He looks down at the book and back up at Steve a few times, making sure that Steve isn’t going to turn away from the onions he’s chopping anytime soon, before cracking the book open. Tony’s expecting to see some sort of illicit information, possibly the all the numbers of people Steve has been having secret, tawdry affairs with. He nearly fumbles the book when he sees what’s actually in there.

He flips from page to page and all there is are lists and lists of random phrases and things and people ranging from YOLO to Bill Nye the Science Guy to hair bands. He flips and flips, searching for some rhyme or reason before finally blurting out, “Should I be worried that you’ve gone insane?”

“What?” Steve asks, turning away from the stove with a look of bewilderment. When he spots the book in Tony’s hands he immediately pats down his back pocket, glaring at Tony when he finds it empty.

“Did you take that out of my pocket?” Steve’s voice is razor sharp in a way that Tony hasn’t heard in months and it makes a little part of him twinge on the inside.

“No, _please_ ,” Tony scoffs, trying his best not to let Steve’s anger make him get too defensive. You know, for the sake of growing as a human being and all that. “It fell out onto the floor and I saw your slightly obsessive lists of all things random when I picked it up.” Nothing wrong with a little embellishment.

Steve seems to see through him though. He lurches forward and swipes the book out of Tony’s grasp. There’s a slight blush on his face that gives away his embarrassment through his façade of anger and it makes Tony even more curious.

“Care to explain?” Tony tries again.

Steve attempts glaring at Tony again and when Tony continues to look at him with the same, unfazed look he gives in with a sigh.

“Whenever someone mentions something I don’t recognize, I write it down in there to look up later.”

“Oh.” Tony looks down at the little book poking out of Steve’s pocket with a blank look, totally deflated now that his insanity hypothesis has been thwarted. He perks up again when Steve’s words finally settle in his brain. “Wait! Isn’t this something I should know about as your 21st century liaison?”

Steve rolls his eyes at that and Tony isn’t even remotely surprised by his sass anymore. He’s just determined to get his hands back on that book.

“Tony, c’mon-”

“No, _Steve no,_ ” Tony makes a grab for the book and _of course_ Steve blocks his attempts with ease. “You said lay it on me, liaison,” Tony whines as they scuffle, Steve clearly holding back as they push and pull at each other. Tony thinks he sees Steve grinning a couple of times and it only makes him more determined.

With one last swift undercut Tony does get the book out of Steve’s pocket, though he knows that he wouldn’t have stood a chance if Steve didn’t want him to have it on some level. It doesn’t stop Tony from crowing in victory anyway.

He skims the book while Steve goes back to cooking, rolling his eyes and muttering and _sassing_ the entire way for show. He figures that if Tony can make a show of hemming and hawing over Steve’s list, Steve can make a show of his “annoyance.”

Tony proves that he does indeed take his title very seriously that night when orders in practically every dish the Thai restaurant down the block offers while playing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” with a shining disco ball revolving overhead.

Steve looks adorably boggle-eyed as he tries to genuinely soak everything in while the rest of the team passes around paper plates and settles down at the table beside him.

“This music! I like it!” Thor proclaims, bobbing his head along to the beat.

Clint claps him on the back and says, “You got good taste, big guy,” as Natasha separates the forks and knifes into two separate piles.

“So Nirvana was a band in the late 80’s and 90’s,” Steve says, looking up at the speakers. “And disco was a music and dance thing in the…?”

“The 70’s,” Bruce tells him patiently as he folds a napkin and passes it Steve’s way. “Very different than Nirvana. Honestly Tony, I don’t know why you decided to group all these things together.”

“Have you seen his list?” Tony asks in defense, strolling out into the hall to grab something before coming back into the kitchen. “It’s ridiculously long. I’m going for quantity at this point, not quality of groupings. Besides, we’ll watch _Saturday Night Fever_ later to really cement the disco thing.”

“Really?” Steve asks with a smile when he sees the camera in Tony’s hands. “Is this something that requires photographic evidence?”

“This is a momentous occasion,” Tony responds, pointing the camera towards Steve with a smirk. The little red light that shows that it’s recording a video blinks and Steve can’t help the blush that works its way across his cheeks.

The teams hoots and hollers as he finally opens up a container of pad thai, tries some, and gives the crew a thumbs up. The camera shakes with Tony’s laughter and they’re all so loud that he doubts that anyone who ever watched the video would have any clue what was going on.

It’s a little stupid and it’s corny but it makes Steve smile. It’s the first time he’s felt like a part of not a team, not an organization, but a _family_ in a very long time.

He looks up at his liaison, the man who demanded that this be a team event, feels a sudden burst of unexpected fondness that he hadn’t ever expected to feel for the likes of Tony Stark.

…

“I think this is actually the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve’s head snaps up from where it was hanging, fingers falling away from where they had been rubbing his temples. He takes in the image of Tony leaning on the doorframe of his shoebox of an office at SHIELD’s New York headquarters and takes a minute to just blink and make sure that he isn’t some sort of paperwork induced haze.

Steve heaves a heavy sigh. “It’s not the best,” Steve admits.

Steve had picked a few issues to throw the weight of his influence behind in his downtime. Whenever he wasn’t actively on a mission he was out working on promoting vaccinations, funding ROTC programs, and fixing the giant mess that was the VA.

SHIELD had offered him a space to conduct his work back when he was still living in Brooklyn and he had accepted it, even though he was almost positive that it was a broom closet that they had scrambled to convert for him at the last minute. It was small, barely wide enough to fit the desk it held, and dimly lit with stark white walls, gray floors, and no windows.

He unclenches and flexes his hand after dropping the pen he had been holding for what seemed like hours. “They tell me all this paperwork is going to make a difference though so I have to try. It doesn’t make the whole thing any less frustrating.”

Steve feels the tension creeping back into his shoulders the more he thinks about it. He lets out a deep breath and focuses back in on Tony who is looking around his office like it’s torture chamber.

“What brings you here anyway?” Steve asks.

“Good ol’ SHIELD wants to switch over to clean energy,” Tony says, lifting his hand to show off some rolled up blueprints. “I tried to send Pepper over with the schematics but Fury demanded to see me in person. I really think he’s just trying to annoy me at this point. He made a pun about keeping his eye on me. I mean, really, that just lacks creativity at this stage in our relationship.”

Steve huffs a laugh and looks at Tony scrunching his nose up in the way he always does when he’s putting on a show over how annoyed he is.

“Anyway, I just happened to be passing the door to your hovel here and saw that lovely angry vein in your forehead popping out like it was trying to escape and decided to charm you with my presence.”

Steve can’t help but grin, feeling the warm, fond feeling that usually accompanied Tony’s presence spread through his chest.

“Fury’s office is in the other direction.”

“Is it?” Tony says, avoiding eye contact like he does when he’s telling a blatant lie. “Aw well, so sad that he’s being kept waiting.”

“Uh huh,” Steve says nodding along even though Tony doesn’t sound particularly repentant. “Well you should probably go see him before he decides to show up at the house again.”

“Yeah,” Tony says and turns on his heel. Steve looks back at his paperwork, tension already weighing down his shoulders again.

“Hey Steve.”

Steve looks up to see Tony still in his doorway, looking at him with a look full of mischief and gentle teasing. “What Tony?”

“What do you call a back alley circumcision?”

Steve tilts his head at Tony in confusion, laughing a little uncertainly. “Tony, what are-?”

“A rip off,” Tony says, flashing him a wide, cheeky smile as Steve lets out a burst of surprised giggles.

Tony nods, seemingly satisfied, and trots away as Steve’s laughs reverberate off the walls and breathe life into the gray monochrome hallways of SHIELD.

…

Tony loves science. He loves working through equations and pushing his brain to the limit. But more than anything he loves this. He loves getting his hands dirty. He loves futzing and fiddling until he’s covered in grease from head to toe, until his fingers ache and he’s barely able to keep his eyes open.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

“You’ve been in here for sixteen hours.”

Tony’s head snaps up, shaken out of whatever project he’d been immersed in to see Steve standing a few feet in front of him, holding a tray of food with his brows all scrunched up in concern like the giant mother hen he can be sometimes. He doesn’t bother to correct him. It’s been way longer than sixteen hours.

“Yeah,” Tony says, rubbing a stained hand across his face. “Just trying to get the specs just right on the arc reactor for SHIELD HQ. I figure that if I get it right the first time around it’ll give Fury less cause to be on my ass about it all the time. “

“Well you still need to eat,” Steve fusses, putting the tray down. “And sleep at some point.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Tony brushes him off. He does pluck a carrot stick off the plate and pop it into his mouth though, just to make Steve ease up a little.

This is when Steve usually nods and heads back upstairs. This time he hesitates.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

“Uh,” Steve says, shuffling his feet and moving around the plates on the tray to grab a sketchpad that had been hidden underneath a sandwich. “I was actually hoping that I could stay and sketch, maybe?”

“Making sure I eat my veggies, Cap?” Tony says with an affectionate grin. He doesn’t know when they became this. Friends, he guesses.

But then again he doesn’t smile like this at Bruce. There’s no gentle teasing when it’s Clint’s turn to come down and make sure he hasn’t science-d himself to death.

He tries not to think about it as Steve shakes his head, returning his grin with a fond one of his own, and says “Lots of inspiration down here. That’s all.”

Tony’s breath catches in his throat and his immediate impulse is to _science._ To retreat away from whatever that feeling in his throat is and go back to the cold, hard facts. He nods and shoos Steve away to one of the benches in the corner.

Tony throws himself back into his work and Steve mostly sticks to his promise to keep to himself and sketch, though he does conveniently clear his throat whenever he notices that it’s been a significant amount of time since Tony last took a bite of food.

Eventually Tony’s arms go heavy and the calluses on his fingers start to crack and bleed and he physically has to turn away from his work. He turns to look at Steve to see that he’s barely awake, fingers dragging his pencil back and forth blindly as his eyes become heavier and heavier.

“Hey Steve,” Tony calls out, shaking Steve out of his stupor.

“Hmm?” Steve responds, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in a way that can’t help but find adorable even against his better judgment.

“You sleeping over tonight?”

“Nah,” Steve says, voice still rough with sleep, as he gathers up his art supplies. “I’m going up to bed. But I’m coming back down here in the morning and if you’re still down here I’m going resort to drastic measures.”

There was a time when Tony would’ve responded to Steve saying that by throttling him. Or at least by making a snippy comment. He wonders where that Tony went because he knows how it’s going to go. He knows that he will still be here in the morning and he knows that Steve will come down and poke and prod him until he leaves the lab to go get some fresh air or sleep or eat.

“You get anything good?” Tony asks, pushing those thoughts away and focusing on Steve’s sketchbook.

Steve ambles over towards Tony’s workbench and lays the sketchbook out in front of him. There are a series of sketches of cogs and screws and random pieces of scrap metal. The drawings start at the top in sharp focus and slowly cascade down the page into abstraction.

Tony runs his hand along the sketches gently, following the line onto the next page where there are several sketches of seals and lemurs from when Steve had last gone to the zoo. Tony looks up and sees Steve’s sleepy eyes tracing the movement of his fingers across the sketchbook and the moment is too quiet, too tender. It makes his hands itch and head feel leaden.

“You want to see something cool?” Tony asks, raising his voice just a little too loud in the emptiness of the lab.

Steve nods a sleepy nod and says, “Sure.”

Tony passes his hands over the sketchbook and a blue light follows him every movement. He types a few commands into the computer, feeling Steve’s eyes following his every move with curiosity. Tony moves quickly, Steve’s curiosity spurring him on, and can’t help but exclaim “Ta da!” when it’s all done.

A hologram bursts forth out of the workbench, just like the holograms uses to work on his blueprints. But this time instead of blueprints being projected, it’s Steve’s drawings of seals rotating before them in 3D.

Steve’s lived in the tower for close to six months now and Tony’s seen him react to a lot of new technology but he’s never seen his face light up the way it does when he sees his drawings come to life. He reaches out with awe and says “How did you…?”

“Science,” Tony says with a smug tone. It fills him with an odd sense of pride to know that _he_ was the one to put that look on Captain America’s, _Steve’s_ , face.

Steve finally pushes his fingers through the hologram, causing it to twist and flip midair, almost as if it were an actual seal swimming through the water. Steve absolutely beams and any pretense Tony had is gone. The flood gates have opened and the lump in his throat is back with a vengeance, bringing along a warmth that spreads through his chest and makes his heart beat a little bit faster and palms sweat and suddenly reality crashes down on him all at once.

And all Tony Stark can do is think _‘Well. Shit.’_

…

Tony is glad that Thor broke his wall. Really.

Because he’s honestly not sure what would have happened with Steve post-picnic if they hadn’t come home to a giant, gaping hole in the wall. Probably something that he shouldn’t be doing, probably something that pushed the envelope way too far.

Because that’s Tony’s problem. Or at least one of the top three. He can never leave well enough alone. He always has to push, always have to pursue things, even when he has no right to pursue them. Especially when he has no right to pursue them.

He had known that he had _feelings_ after their night in the lab but he had promised to repress them, to ignore them, to write them off as lust gone sentimental.

But then Steve had made them a picnic, had looked up a _cookie recipe_ for him, and Tony had kissed him like the giant fool he was. And Steve, perfect, precious _Steve_ had kissed him back and held his hand and _goddammit._

Tony practically digs his trowel into his poor, abused wall, grinding the drywall compound into the mesh lining like it’s the reason everything is such a mess right now.

Tony thinks he might’ve been able to better navigate this situation if he had realized what was happening. If it had been like how it had been with Pepper, more of a gradual reveal and less like an eighteen-wheeler smacked him across the face. But he doesn’t even know when it happened. There’s no one moment he can point to and say, ‘ah yes, that is the moment I started to fall madly in love with Steve Rogers.’

He’s always thought that he was hot. Fuckable. That had never been an issue. Other than that, he remembers a short period of time where the thought of being in the same room as him had repulsed Tony and then suddenly it hadn’t and then suddenly he was kissing him in the park.

Tony can’t do this. He can’t be in love again. Because he’s just started to piece his friendship with Pepper back together again after months of not talking and it had hurt more than anything to think that he might’ve lost her forever.

And frankly, if he couldn’t make things work with Pepper how can it ever work with Steve? And what happens then? When he inevitably fucks things up and Steve breaks it off?

The thought of Steve good and truly hating him, giving him the same empty smiles Pep gives him sometimes when it’s just too weird, ripping apart their little dysfunctional family – it all guts him. His hand shakes so hard around the trowel that he has to let it drop to the floor.

He can’t. He can’t let it happen.

The worst part, he finally thinks, is that Steve returned the goddamn kiss. He had smiled back and had taken his hand and hadn’t even questioned it. He hadn’t even tried to put a definition to it all. He had done it like it was natural as breathing, that it was obvious, that Tony could just _have_ Steve, like this wasn’t impossible.

And ultimately that’s what sends him running away, out of the tower without a word, back to the alcohol that he hasn’t touched for months because of the way Steve’s stupid eyebrows used to furrow whenever he saw him drunk.

Because he can’t. _He can’t._

…

Fuck Fury and the eye patch he rolled in on has been Tony’s philosophy since he met the man so there’s no way in hell that he’s ever going to willingly take his advice.

He’s perfectly fine with staying in relationship limbo with Steve Rogers for the rest of his days. Yep. It’s completely fine. Honestly, he hadn’t even expected Steve to forgive him after his minor panic induced bender so the fact that that had happened and that they were still doing the frequent kissing thing is really enough for Tony. This was nice. He could contain his feelings and not risk the team or his friendships. It was great. This was fine. Totally, completely fine.

Tony isn’t a labels kind of guy anyway.

“Hey, Tony? Are you okay?” Steve asks, voice full of concern.

Tony looks around and notices that it’s a pretty typical morning at the tower. The kitchen smells like coffee and pineapple from the fruit salad Bruce is making. Everyone else is crowded around the kitchen table, reading the paper or munching on toast or cereal. Nothing seems out of place.

“Yeah, absolutely. Why?” Tony replies.

“Because you look like you’re about to collapse.” Steve’s becoming more and more agitated as he looks over Tony and Tony should’ve known better than to think he could come down clutching his side and not have anyone ask about it.

“Oh yeah,” Tony says, trying to keep in a hiss of pain. “I think I overdid it when we were sparring the other day. Must’ve pulled something.”

“You don’t look so hot, Tony,” Bruce adds, scrutinizing him over his bowl of fruit and Tony glares at him a little because Steve is bad enough without reinforcements.

His vision is starting to swim and Steve bolts out of his chair and marches his way over to Tony. He looks increasingly distressed as he walks, his movements becoming jerky and stiff.

“Tony-”

“Steve, really. Sit back down. I’m fine. Totally, completely-”

And that’s when he passes out.

…

Appendicitis.

Tony has appendicitis. 

Steve wrings his hands in the waiting room as he waits for the doctor to come out of surgery with any news. He knows the death by appendectomy isn’t really a thing that happens but it doesn’t really stop the worry.

Steve had panicked when he’d seen Tony fall to floor. He’d been ready to scoop him up and carry him to the hospital in his pajamas. Luckily the team had been there to calm him down and get him to go change while they called an ambulance.

He hasn’t worried like this in a long time. It’s a clawing kind of feeling that makes him shake all over. And Steve knows that he’s had _feelings of a romantic sort_ for Tony for a while now. Even if he hadn’t, the way his stomach swoops whenever Tony presses his lips to his might’ve clued him in by now. But Steve’s loved a bunch of people before and they’ve rarely inspired this kind of fear in him.

They’ve kissed a grand total of three times. But they’ve never talked about it. They don’t treat each other any differently than they did before they added kissing to their list of shared activities. No one’s certainly asked anyone else out on a date.

Maybe that’s why he’s so worried. Maybe he’s frightened that something might happen to one of them before they can actually do something about all of this. Maybe he’s scared that he’ll never be able to take Tony out to dinner and hold all the doors open for him and pull out his chair and let Tony make fun of him for it for the entire night.

The rest of the team stayed home just in case they were needed for an emergency but Pepper’s with him, worrying in that silent way of hers. She’s rearranged her planner five times in the last twenty minutes alone.

Pepper gives him a thoughtful look after he runs his fingers through his hair for the billionth time. She must think of something good because all she does is smile.

“I’m happy for you two,” she says, voice warm and gentle. “You make a good pair.”

Steve doesn’t bother asking how Pepper knows about their situation. Steve learned to stop asking how the women in his life knew anything about anything a long time ago. Instead he stutters out, “We-we’re not-”

“Oh, yes you are,” she says, going back to fiddling with her planner. “It may not be official yet and neither one of you might’ve said it out loud but it’s there.”

The hospital is dimly lit and loud as ever. It reeks of antiseptic and anxiety and the hundreds of crappy reproductions of Impressionist masterpieces make Steve want to puke more than they soothe him. But Pepper sits in the midst of the chaos looking surer than ever about Steve’s fate with her _ex-boyfriend_.

Steve’s still trying to come up with a proper response when Tony’s surgeon comes out, wearing a wide grin that’s instantly reassuring. He tells them that Tony’s fine and that he’s in the recovery room.

“He’s just coming out of anesthesia,” he says right before he leaves. “He’s a little groggy but you’re welcome to go see him.”

Steve’s out of his chair so fast that it nearly falls over. He’s halfway down the hall leading to the recovery room when he notices that Pepper isn’t following him.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asks.

“Nah.” She sounds wistful. A smile breaks out across her face and fades away just as quickly. “It’s enough to know that he got through okay. Besides, he’s got you now.”

Her words carry a heavy weight and Steve feels guilt pool in his stomach. He couldn’t stand it if he was driving wedge that drove a friendship apart. He’d lost too many of his own friends to let that happen.

“Are you sure? I know he’d love to see you,” Steve tries, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

“Oh, calm down,” Pepper says, rolling her eyes like he’s yet another one of the many drama queens she deals with on a daily basis. “I’m not leaving because I’m angst ridden over your…” She gestures at him wildly, looking him up and down.

“Your whatever with Tony,” she finishes. “I’m leaving because post-anesthesia Tony is even more ridiculous than regular old Tony. I’ll come back and see him when it’s worn off.”

“Oh.” Steve feels relieved for a moment, happy that Pepper truly seems to not have any trouble with their _whatever,_ until her words catch up with him. “Post-anesthesia Tony?”

“Yep,” she says, popping her p with the sugary sweet satisfaction of someone who knows someone else is walking into a hilariously awkward situation. She swings her bag over her shoulder and walks right past him. She waves and wishes him good luck as she leaves.

Steve isn’t deterred by her warnings though. This past week has been a roller coaster of emotions and he needs to see Tony, no matter how loopy he is.

When he walks in he expects Tony to be yelling or fighting a nurse or doing the mambo with his ass hanging out the back of his hospital gown. He expects something that would explain why Pepper had hurried off after hours of worry. But, instead he just sees Tony laying on a gurney looking half asleep but no worse for the wear. Steve lets out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Tony,” he says gently, laying his hand over one of Tony’s as he comes to stand beside him. “How’re you feeling?”

Tony turns his face towards Steve and lifts his hazy gaze up to look at him. When Tony’s eyes land on his face they light up like Steve’s the best thing he’s ever seen and it makes Steve’s heart stutter in its place.

“Who’re _you_?”

Steve’s heart sinks.

Tony’s voice is slurred as his head lolls back and forth and his eyes struggle to stay focused. It’s clear that he’s so drugged he probably doesn’t even know his right from his left. It doesn’t make Steve feel any better though. Especially when his response is, “I’m Steve. I’m your….”

 _Whatever._ He’s Tony’s whatever.

“I’m your friend,” he settles on, a sick feeling taking over him. He takes his hand off of Tony’s. “And your teammate.”

“Really?” Tony says, clearly disappointed and Steve fights off the feeling of rejection. There’s no use getting hurt at something someone as out of it as Tony is has to say. It doesn’t make it sting any less.

Steve nods and Tony squints up at him carefully. “Well, I’m losing my touch then. You’re a knockout.”

“Excuse me?” Steve asks, his heart racing so fast it feels like it’s in his throat.

“You gotta be a model or something. I mean, look at that jaw. You could bust open _coconuts_ on that thing!” The nurses turn to stare at them and start to mumble when Tony yells coconuts at the top of his lungs and Steve can feel a flush of embarrassment crawl across his cheeks.

“Tony,” Steve warns, leaning down to get a good look at him. He’s cut off as Tony slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Look at those eyes,” Tony moans mournfully. “So pretty and honest and _blue._ There has to be more to it. _There has to be._ There’s no way that there’s a version of me that isn’t ass over elbows for you.” His words sound so earnest, so real that Steve can hardly take it.

Steve’s choking on his own spit when a nurse comes over and touches his elbow gently. She leans in and says, “I’m sorry to interrupt Captain Rogers but we need to look him over one last time before we send him to his room. You have to go but we’ll be taking him up to the private suite on the ninth floor soon.”

Steve’s honestly grateful for the out. He’s not sure he could take post-anesthesia Tony wrecking his emotions for much longer. He pulls away from Tony, even as he whines and fusses as the nurses try to take his pulse.

“Bye, Tony,” he says firmly, hoping that Tony’s drug addled brain will distract him again.

But it doesn’t and the last words Steve hears as he leaves the recovery room are, “I’ll be talking to this other, _idiot_ Tony because, man, I’d be lucky to have a guy like you.”

…

Later, after they’ve gotten Tony home and he’s back in his right mind, Steve looks at him and whispers, “Did you mean it? On some level at least? Do you even remember?”

Tony’s propped up on a mound of pillows on his bed. His eyes are soft and his hair askew. Steve expects him to say no outright or at the very least deflect with jokes until Steve gives up.

But he doesn’t. His side hurts like hell and Steve’s looking at him with those pretty, honest, blue eyes and Tony just doesn’t anymore.

For once in his life Tony just makes it easy. He takes post-anesthesia Tony’s advice.

He says, “Yeah, I did.”

And then Steve, no, _his boyfriend_ comes to the head of the bed and kisses him fiercely, only breaking away to smile against his lips.

The world doesn’t collapse. Nothing bursts into flames. No one declares their undying hatred for Tony and leaves him alone to die.

 _Look at that,_ Tony thinks. _It might just be okay after all._

…

_‘I love you, Jack.’_

“Now see, this is where this movie just gets stupid,” Tony scoffs. Steve is settled against his side and is absolutely riveted to the screen. His back is warm against Tony’s arm, his lips are parted, and his eyes are big and glassy white-blue in the darkness of the movie room. It’s almost enough to distract Tony. Almost.

“Don’t tell me you’re a _Titanic_ hater, Stark,” Clint remarks from the other side of Steve. He and Thor are sitting beside Steve and Tony doesn’t even know why they’re there. The only reasons he can think of are that they either really enjoy chewing popcorn like they’re masticating cows or love cockblocking Tony and his new boyfriend. Probably both.

“I’m not a _hater_ ,” Tony says, his tone as close to a verbal eye roll as possible. “I understand the movie’s cultural importance and all that. But the ending is just stupid. There was more than enough room for Jack to get on with her and not sink it. I’ve done the science, guys. It’s simple physics.”

“Aw, c’mon Tony, it’s poetic,” Clint says. A spray of popcorn shoots out of his hand as he gestures towards the screen.

“Really, Katniss? You’re defending something to me because of its poetic value? You were belching the alphabet _this morning_.”

“Come now,” Thor says, cutting in before Clint can start defending his truly deep and expressive soul to Tony. “It is a tale of love and sacrifice. You of all people should be able to appreciate it.”

“Okay, sacrifice is all good and fine when it’s necessary,” Tony says, getting more and more agitated as baby Leonardo DiCaprio turns progressively bluer. “But this wasn’t necessary. He could’ve gotten on the damn door. He could’ve found another piece of furniture. It’s just dumb. Jack Dawson is dumb.”

“What?” Steve’s voice is small and confused and almost a shock to Tony as he hasn’t said a word since Tony put on the movie three hours ago. He knows that Steve’s become a master at selectively tuning out everyone’s banter, especially when he wants to focus on one thing in particular.

“You don’t like Jack?” Steve asks as he perks up, coming out of his tunnel vision haze. He sounds a little Brooklyn, a little defensive.

“I don’t have a problem with him,” Tony says, a little twinge of awkward seeping into his tone at having to defend his feelings for a fictional character. “I just think his death wasn’t necessary. He made the wrong call.”

Steve bristles, actually _bristles_ in indignation, and says “He did what he needed to so Rose could live on!”

Tony just blinks for a moment because he’s not entirely certain that he’s not in the twilight zone. It’s very rare that Steve gets worked up about anything that’s not real or tangible in some way. Tony’s only seen it once and Clint really had been cheating at Monopoly so Steve’s yelling had been founded.

Tony pulls his arm out from behind Steve to look him dead in the eye. “Steve, sweetie,” he says as plainly as possible. “If we were ever trapped floating in the Atlantic and I put you on a piece of debris and then didn’t get on it with you or find myself another one or even suggest we take turns, wouldn’t you think I was a colossal idiot?”

Steve opens his mouth to counter but his response is cut off by a shower of popcorn raining down over their heads.

“Oh my God, guys, no one cares and you’re missing the part where she dies and goes back to the Titanic in heaven.”

They both turn towards the screen for a moment to watch as Jack sweeps Rose up into his arms and kisses her to Celine Dion’s crooning. It’s a soft, quiet moment. The air smells like salt and butter and Thor is sniffling and murmuring something about how sweet it all is. The tension is forgotten.

Until the credits start to roll and Clint says, “Besides, it’s clear why Cap is so defensive. He is basically Jack Dawson.”

“What?” Tony asks, offended on Steve’s behalf for a moment. He doesn’t even notice that Steve’s sinking back into the couch.

“C’mon,” Clint says with an eye roll, as if it’s obvious. “Artist. Scrappy, back-alley kid turned hero. Freezes in the ocean making the ultimate sacrifice. The parallels are uncanny.”

Tony finds himself blinking once, twice yet again before focusing his gaze on Steve. There’s popcorn in his hair, a blush tinting his cheeks pink, and he won’t meet Tony’s gaze. Tony’s heart melts at the sight.

“Do you identify with Jack, Steven?” Tony asks slyly. He knows he’s got Steve when he doesn’t answer but merely rolls his eyes and grumbles as he heaves himself out of his chair.

“Oh my god,” Tony groans with a laugh as Steve stalks up the stairs towards the door. He’s batting stray popcorn out of his hair the whole way. “You do! That is precious.”

Tony may or may not break out into a rendition of “My Heart Will Go On.”

Steve may or may not flip him off before he finally storms out the door.

…

The thing is, they realize that they’re completely ridiculous and they’ve accepted it.

They didn’t really have a honeymoon phase like most couples do, mainly because neither their work nor their personalities were really conducive to spending hours upon hours looking soulfully into each other’s eyes. When they aren’t fighting Tony is still volatile, still sarcastic, still too biting and Steve is still stubborn, still just as sarcastic, and still too rigid at times.

So, they fight. They fight a lot. They fight over battle plans and alcohol and carelessness. But they also fight about date plans and kisses and the last piece of toast too. They always make up though and (with the exception of those three weeks about two months ago after Tony had come home stinking of whiskey and Steve had outright refused to even look at him until he agreed to go to therapy) the longer their relationship goes on the shorter the turnaround time gets.

Even with the fighting to temper it, everyone else in the tower is thoroughly done with their sap. Bruce has gone from complaining to glaring to just moving as far as way as possible whenever their chats in the lab turn into making out on the equipment. Thor and Clint have posted a roof time schedule in the common area after walking up there to find Steve and Tony tangled together one too many times. Natasha is thoroughly peeved at having lost half of her sparring time with the only worthwhile partner in the tower because he’s always off on dates.

They whine a lot but Steve knows that they’re happy for them if only because Steve and Tony are happy.

Tony’s brain works a million miles a minute and Steve is always fascinated to watch him, though he still flushes when Tony turns his thoughtful stare on him. He is the most hot-blooded and most sentimental man in turns, equally likely to call Steve out on things as he is to rake his fingers through Steve’s hair and murmur affectionate praise into his ear. They push and they pull on one another and it makes Steve feel like he’s in free-fall in the best of ways.

Steve doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone a day without laughing, even if it’s against his will. His nightmares have ebbed and he sleeps through the night now that he does so with Tony in his arms. He has never felt so healed, so completely loved.

He looks forward to every moment with Tony, whether they’re sitting together in silence or yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. Last week Tony rented out a movie theater so they could watch a double feature all by themselves and the week before that they didn’t move from their bed for twenty-six hours straight. Steve told Tony that he had enjoyed both things equally and Tony had responded by buying him an easel and a set of oil paints because that’s one of the many ways Tony shows affection. Steve’s been doing this thing with Tony for nearly a year now and he learned a long time ago that complaining about it does more damage than accepting the gifts with as much gratitude and affection that he can muster.

Steve’s little art nook – that’s quickly turning into more of an art studio – up in Tony’s quarters is always the most beautiful at dusk. The sunset fills the sky and paints the room in shades of purple and -

“Orange,” Tony huffs as he wanders back into the living area where Steve is perched on his bench, playing with oil colors in an attempt to get just the right shade. “You must love it.”

“I do,” Steve murmurs, still engrossed in his work. “It’s beautiful.”

Tony hums in what Steve assumes is agreement but could easily be one of the drowsy little noises he makes when he’s half-asleep.

He hears Tony pad over to him and feels his fingers ghost over his shoulders but doesn’t let himself get distracted. He’s not even swayed when Tony presses a series of kisses to his neck, dripping shower water from his hair onto his back. This time the noise Tony makes is a clear sigh of disappointment as he moves away and around the side of the bench.

Steve notices Tony in his periphery, walking towards the bench he uses for still life pieces and stretching himself across it like a cat. Between the bright blue of the arc reactor against his shirtless chest and the way his pants roll down to reveal the V of his hips Steve can’t help but be distracted for a moment as Tony writhes on the bench. 

Tony smirks triumphantly when he notices Steve watching and turns towards him, propping his head up and leering in his direction.

Tony has always been his most willing model and most frequent subject. He has sketchbooks filled with Tony’s nimble, inventor’s hands alone. But Steve never gives into him when he’s like this. It’d be too easy.

Instead he just grins politely and switches his focus back to the sunset. He tries not to laugh too obviously when Tony huffs and pouts loudly.

“C’mon Steve,” Tony purrs and Steve knows that he’s getting desperate when Tony switches in his “seductive” voice that is less seductive than it is chain-smoker-y. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Steve as it did the many that came before him. He glances over to Tony briefly to see that he’s put one hand behind his head and another on his hip.

The pose is baffling enough to grab Steve’s full attention, something he immediately regrets when Tony drawls, “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

To Tony’s credit, Steve does stop trying to draw the sunset.

Only to throw his sketchbook at Tony’s face.

(With love, of course)

…

“A whole year, huh,” Tony says, looking up at the sky.

Their anniversary is in November and it really is a little too cold to be doing this. But between Steve’s abnormal body heat and their blanket they can make it work.

Steve pulls Tony even closer to him, tucking his head beneath his chin and wrapping the blanket around them tighter. They didn’t do anything special, just went out to dinner and came home to their roof. They can’t see any stars up in the inky black polluted sky but the buildings shimmer beneath and it makes for a beautiful view.

Steve hooks their ankles together where they’re swinging below them and whispers, “Yeah. Doesn’t seem like that long though.”

“Well, time flies when you’re having fun,” Tony quips. “Fighting crime, being generally awesome, takes up a lot of time in the year. And then you gotta add in all the mind-blowing orgasms. I mean, really, it’s a shock that we got anything done at all.”

His words are far from innocent but the way he snuffles into the side of Steve’s neck is adorable and pulls on Steve’s heartstrings like nothing else. Between the sentimentality of it being their anniversary and Tony’s nuzzles, Steve can feel the emotion plugging up his throat. He grabs Tony’s hands tighter beneath their cocoon in an effort to keep his mouth shut, to bottle neck all the sappy words that want to come pouring out.

“Hey,” Tony muses, “I totally think I can see that Mexican joint we went to with Bruce the other day from here. Babe, look, look down there! I can totally see the neon maracas! Now that is an achievement, call the record books. We have a winner for the most obnoxiously bright neon sign in all of New-”

And Steve can’t. He can’t sit here and look at Tony all excitement and smiles and bright eyes on their anniversary and keep it together anymore.

“I love you,” Steve blurts, the emotions finally bursting out of him at Tony’s babbling about _neon maracas_ of all things, and Tony freezes.

They’ve done an awful lot in the past year. They’ve thrown themselves in the line of fire for one another, they’d laughed together, hugged and kissed, fucked and made love, but never had they said that to one another.

Tony isn’t one for sappy words and Steve never wanted to push. He knows how he feels about Tony and he knows how Tony feels about him. It’s clear in the way he looks at Steve, the way he holds him and the way his lips curl around his name.  He hadn’t ever needed to hear it but all of sudden he felt a need to express it, to tell Tony, to shout it out loud to everyone.

His brows furrow together as Tony remains stiff and silent in his arms and worry fills him. “You know you don’t have to say it back, right?” Steve says, in an attempt to comfort him. He knows Tony. He knows his heart and he knows his history. He doesn’t need Tony’s words.

Tony opens his mouth and all that comes out is a slightly choked noise and Steve worries for a moment that he might have broken him. “Tony,” he begins, panic starting to settle in.

Tony interrupts him before he can go any further, turning his eyes up to meet Steve’s and taking his breath away. He reaches a hand up to curve around Steve’s jaw and says, “All of my life, whether they meant to or not, everyone close to me has always made me feel like I wasn’t…” He pauses, trying to think of the right word, before settling on “ _enough._

“But the way you look at me, Steve, the way you talk to me – Christ -”

He breaks off to look away, biting the inside of his cheek as if he needs to ground himself or else the words won’t come out right. And Steve can relate. He knows that his eyes are just as suspiciously glassy as Tony’s are and his throat’s so full he can barely breathe.

Tony glances back at him and settles it with a simple, “Never you Steve, never you.”

Steve’s head is spinning at the heaviness of Tony’s words and he can’t do anything but choke out an awkward, “That’s good,” before he’s pressing his lips to Tony’s.

Because confirmation that he makes Tony feel safe and cherished and loved and perfectly _enough_ just the way that he is?

That’s the best _love you too_ Steve Rogers could’ve asked for.

…

Tony waltzes into their bedroom one night and proudly announces, “I’ve made it my new mission in life to get Bruce laid.”

Steve looks up from his book to get a good look at his boyfriend, looking for any signs of intoxication or mind control, before clearing his throat and saying, “Pardon me?”

“Don’t get all cute on me now,” Tony says and he throws himself onto the bed beside Steve. He wiggles around like the giant cat that he is until he’s properly shoved the book out of Steve’s lap and situated himself there instead. Steve rolls his eyes in annoyance but he pulls Tony closer all the same.

“You know perfectly well what I said,” Tony continues once they’re settled.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that I think it makes any sense,” Steve replies. “You have no business meddling in Bruce’s love life.”

“He’s one of my good friends and the only one in this tower that isn’t getting any,” Tony argues. “I think that it’s my obligation to help him out here. And I met this professor at the Baruch commencement ceremony last summer you know, the one who made all the cookies I brought home?”

“They were very good cookies,” Steve says, breathing a sigh into Tony’s neck. He knows when Tony can be dissuaded from doing something and Steve has a feeling that this is not one of those times.

“See! You even agree that they were excellent cookies!”

“Yeah, Tony, but that doesn’t mean that she’s great match for Bruce. I mean, do you even see Bruce being open to dating anyone? We’ve known the man for over two years now and he’s still a little detached.”

“I mean, maybe he’ll be a little hesitant but I’ll talk to him. It’ll be all good!” Tony says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince Steve.

“Tony,” Steve warns, making one last ditch effort to sway Tony. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Ye of little faith!” Tony cries and Steve knows that it’s a done deal.

…

“Tony are you sure that this is best place to be introducing this girl to everybody?” Steve asks. He tries to keep his tone serious though it’s hard not to be distracted by the mirrors and crystal surrounding them in the small space of the elevator. “I can barely make it through these things in one piece and that’s without me having to meet four very…”

He trails off as he searches for the right words. Tony meets his eye in the reflection of the mirror and raises an eyebrow as Steve fidgets and flounders.

“Very strong personalities,” Steve settles on.

Tony just brushes him off with a swipe of his hand. “This isn’t even that big of an event. She’ll be fine. I wouldn’t have suggested that Bruce bring her if I didn’t think that she could handle it,” he says, going back to fixing his cufflinks like it’s nothing.

“Tony, there is a chandelier in this elevator. I think it’s fair to say that this is a little more complicated than dinner at our place would’ve been.” Steve turns to look at Tony himself rather than his reflection. “Things are going well between them. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Look at this,” Tony teases, finally turning to meet Steve’s gaze. “Mr. I-don’t-think-this-is-a-good-idea is all for saving the relationship now.”

Steve rolls his eyes while Tony smirks and says, “C’mon Steve, lighten up. The woman’s a tough cookie, okay? She’ll be fine. Anyway, everyone’s gotta meet the family at some point, even dysfunctional ones like ours.”

Steve’s heart melts a little at Tony calling their little team a family and he catches himself staring down at him intensely, trying to determine whether Tony just said it to humor him or not. When Tony looks up at him with genuine suspicion in his eyes and says, “What? What’s with the sappy eyes? I feel like this has to be a trap being that you were just giving me disappointed Cap eyebrows a minute ago.”

Steve feels warmth go through his chest and he grabs Tony’s hand and pulls him against his side. “Nah,” Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Tony’s head. “You just look handsome tonight.”

Tony absolutely perks up at that, preening at his tuxedo-clad reflection in the glass. Tony disentangles their hands only to press his hand to Steve’s lower back. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he replies, ogling Steve in his dress greens. He reaches up to press his lips to Steve’s ear and says, “I swear, I think that you just wear this thing because you know it makes every being with a pulse drool at the sight of you.”

Steve’s lips quirk up into a sly grin, the one that no one outside of their immediate circle of friends even believes exists, and he drawls, “Maybe I wear it because it makes one person in particular drool at the sight of me.”

There’s a slight stutter in Tony’s breath and Steve can feel Tony’s hand trailing lower. “If only everyone knew how absolutely _evil_ you can be, Captain America,” Tony breathes. Steve turns his head in response, just far enough to brush his lips over Tony’s.

And then the elevator dings, the door slides open, and Steve jumps away from Tony like he’s on fire. Tony grumbles, obviously displeased, but he doesn’t pull away when Steve goes to grab his hand and pull him out of the elevator.

“All for the best.” Steve coughs, clearing his throat of any lingering huskiness. “Last time I kissed you in a public elevator the press had a field day.”

Tony just grumbles some more.

The lighting is dim, the only real light coming from the centerpieces, full of glittering stones and tea lights. But even in the dimness Steve spots the team sitting at a large, circular table, all of them focused on the same person. She’s sitting next to Bruce and smiling a large, happy smile even though Steve can tell even from halfway across the room that Nat and Clint are grilling the life out of her. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a style that Steve hasn’t seen since before he was frozen and it automatically endears her to him. The feeling is only reaffirmed when Bruce, who looks like he’s about to break out into a cold sweat, presses a nervous hand into her lap and it doesn’t seem to faze her at all. She doesn’t break in her conversation with Clint and Natasha, only reaches one hand down to squeeze his reassuringly.

“Sorry we’re late,” Tony says as they approach the table, seemingly over his grumbling. “Steve was getting a little handsy in the elevator.” But then again, no.

Thor laughs his usual echoing bellow of a laugh, Natasha’s face twists into a look of disgust that everyone knows is just for show at this point, and Bruce’s gal turns to face them all smiles.

“Somehow I can’t help but think that you were the one getting handsy in an elevator,” she says and Steve likes her already.

“She already knows you so well, Stark,” Clint says. “She’ll fit right in.”

She lets out a bubbly, happy laugh at his words and Tony just rolls his eyes and quips, “Traitors, all of you,” before taking the seat next to Clint.

“This is Betty, Steve,” Tony says, making quick introductions as Steve takes the seat between him and Betty. “Betty this is Steve.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says as he holds out a hand to shake hers, trying to be as nice and warm and welcoming as he can possibly be. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Betty Schaer,” she says in return. Her smile is still in place but she seems far away for a moment as if she’s looking at Steve but seeing through him at the same time. He doesn’t question it though he does start to fidget a bit when her gaze wanders down to the medals on his chest.

The spell seems to break when her eyes land on his name tag, literally shaking herself out of it. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “My brother was in the army. You have a few of the same medals.”

Her gaze returns to his chest, lingering over his purple heart as she says it and Steve gives a gentle smile. “He served in Iraq?”

“He did,” she says with a heavy sigh. “He was damn good at it too. Made it to Sergeant in two years. He loved your old film reels as a kid.”

As per usual, Steve has to fight back the impulse to crawl into a corner and die of embarrassment at the mention of his time selling war bonds. He expresses his flattery as best he can, stuttering a little around his words of thanks.

She just smiles reassuringly at him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Every army brat’s grown up with those movies.”

“Were you in the service too?” he asks, jumping on whatever information that leads away from embarrassing memories that she gives him.

“Ah, no,” she says, averting her gaze for the first time. “My father wasn’t very supportive of women in the military. He pretty much left me to my own devices.”

“I’m sorry to hear that” Steve says, struggling to find words and keep a straight face and not stutter. It’s not from embarrassment this time but from the shock of Tony’s had on his thigh. Apparently whatever conversation Clint had to offer hadn’t been entertaining enough to keep him occupied for long. Steve slightly regrets the elevator tease now. But only slightly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Betty says, full mega-watt smile back on her face. “My life’s been just fine. Even _better_ lately.”

Her eyes cut to Bruce. She looks at him with open affection as he tries to explain light bulbs to Thor with a paper napkin diagram and everything locks into place. Steve’s worries fall away.

He can feel Tony’s _told you so_ stare boring into the back of his skull and for once he doesn’t even care. All he feels at the moment are happiness and relief.

“Can I officially add matchmaker to my overwhelmingly long list of accomplishments yet, Captain?”

Tony’s voice is warm and rumbly in his ear, full of self-satisfaction, and Steve can’t even bother to do anything but snort out a chuckle and lean into Tony.

Because Betty Schaer? She’ll fit in just fine.

…

Steve and Tony have always burned long and bright and hard. Their relationship has been like a wildfire since the start, since the very moment Steve looked over at him at Stuttgart and spit out Tony’s name like it was something disgraceful. Tony had always lit a fire in him, gotten under his skin, pushed him right to the edge without even moving a muscle and Steve knows that Tony feels the same about him.

They’ve always been the fire in each other’s veins and that hadn’t changed as they had morphed from annoyances to teammates to friends to partners. All it did was fuel different emotions. Instead of focusing all of that heat into well-crafted barbs, they poured it into biting, bruising kisses.

Not to say that there weren’t still barbs. Because as much as they love each other, as much as they admire each other, on a fundamental level Steve and Tony are two very different types of people. They’ve learned, they’ve loved, and they’ve changed but that same tension between cynical humor and optimistic dedication – the very spark that started it all - is still there.

Steve has tried to apologize to their teammates in the aftermath of their blowouts, those times when the flames leap and jump and explode in their faces, and they never accept his apologies. Clint had put it best, once saying that “Steve and Tony wouldn’t be _Steve n’ Tony_ without a good old-fashioned _brawl_ every once and a while.”

They’ve been doing this for almost two years now and this is just always how it’s been. They love each other for a million different reasons but Tony is still volatile, still sarcastic, still too biting and Steve is still stubborn, still just as sarcastic, and still too rigid at times and that’ll probably never change.

Steve doesn’t even remember what they said to each other this time around or how it started, though he knows that he ended it. He doesn’t remember the vitriol he spewed but he remembers the hurt on Tony’s face and it kills him a little, now that the flames have died down again, to think that he did that. Tony is both incredibly strong and incredibly fragile and Steve hates that he knows that, hates that when he feels nothing but anger he knows exactly where to push to make him break.

He’s tried apologizing but Tony’s shut himself away in the lab, locking it shut and barring access to everyone else. He won’t answer his phone, won’t come to bed, won’t even yell at Steve to go away when he pounds on the lab door for an hour straight, begging Tony to come out.

“You guys have really done it this time,” Clint remarks on day four of the lockout. And Steve’s stomach drops at the thought that he really has.

Tony comes to bed on day six. Their bedroom is dark except for the light from the lamp on Steve’s nightstand and Tony looks haggard and weak in the dimness. Most of all he looks devastatingly sad and it frightens Steve. Steve has seen Tony look a lot of things – infuriated, disappointed, hurt – but never sad. His body goes numb with panic.

“Tony,” Steve chokes out. “Tony, I’m so sorry. I was out of line. I’m so, so sorry. _God,_ I’m so happy you’re here I-”

Steve keeps babbling but Tony makes no move to come closer and it only makes Steve panic more. He feels stupid sitting in this bed, in their bed, when something is so obviously off.

“Do you ever think that we push too far? That we know too much, know each other too well?” Tony finally asks and Steve is so numb he can’t move, can’t even feel his lips when he responds.

“Tony-”

 “Every time that I think that we’re getting better, we just go back to how it was. We’re too smart, too _goddamn stubborn._ ” Tony huffs an empty laugh, thinking back to the day he invited Steve up for a drink and how the first thing he knew they had in common is the last thing they have in common.

Steve can’t sit in the bed anymore. He gets up and looks at Tony but doesn’t approach him, doesn’t know what to do at all. He just stares, pleading with Tony with every fiber of his being.

“Tony, we’re a couple. All couples fight.”

“Yeah, but we don’t just fight,” Tony says, finally meeting Steve’s gaze. His words are harsh and fiery and he fixes Steve with a heated look. “We tear into one another. We never stay on topic. It always gets personal. Always turns into the same fight.”

“No, Tony, no it doesn’t,” Steve fights, because that’s what Steve always does when his back up against the wall. “I know that I pushed too far last time but that’s not how it always is and you know it. I love you. I love you so much, Tony, I-”

“I know you do,” Tony says, the fight and the heat having left him completely. Now he just looks lost and sad. “But that’s the problem. We’re destroying each other, Steve.”

“No, _no,_ ” Steve cries, on the verge of yelling. The back of his throat feels tight and he can feel the hot pinprick of tears at the back of his eyes. “We’re good together, Tony. If our arguing is the only problem, we can change that. _I_ can change. I can watch what I say, I can check my temper. We can go to counseling if we need to. But not this. Tony, I need-”

 _Tony I need you,_ he’s about to say. _Tony, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me. Tony, I don’t know how to lead this team without you as my right hand man. Tony, I’m not half as good at anything as I am when I’m doing it next to you. Tony, I don’t know how to sleep without you, to laugh without you, to be without you. You are my best friend. My co-captain in all things. You are my great love, my world, my infinite everything. Please._

But the words don’t come. Because if they’re anything, they’re stubborn, and Tony’s made up his mind.

“Steve, _please,_ ” Tony cuts him off. He sounds pitiful and on the verge of tears. “I don’t want my last memory of this to be of the two of us fighting.”

“Then don’t let it be the last memory. Tony, come on, listen to me. Don’t do this.”

It’s already done. Steve knows that it’s done, Tony knows, the tears that are slowly welling in the corner of his eyes know. But he can’t stop fighting, he won’t stop. Not until Tony is good and truly gone.

Tony walks over. He takes one of Steve’s shaking hands in his and presses his lips to Steve’s knuckles. He leaves a lingering kiss there and Steve pants and hiccups as he finally starts to cry.

“I’m _sorry,_ Tony,” Steve gasps.

Tony sighs and lets go of his hand. “Me too, gorgeous,” he whispers. And then he turns around and he’s gone and Steve’s entire body aches.

Because that’s the thing about wildfires. They all eventually go out.

And when they’re gone all that’s left behind is a valley of ash.

…

They try to make things as painless as possible for the sake of the team.  It doesn’t really work. It just makes things awkward for a while. But they try. Eventually they just become experts at avoiding one another.

Steve’s knee jerk reaction is that he should move back to Brooklyn but he knows that he can’t abandon his team. Tony tells him that he can stay in their quarters and that he’ll move into one of the guest suites during a stilted conversation a few days after they’ve broken up. Steve doesn’t accept the offer simply because it just isn’t fair. That was Tony’s room before and it should be his room after.

Steve packs up his stuff and decides to move back into the room he was in before everything. The room he hasn’t even opened the door to in a year and a half. The room Tony built for him before he even knew who Steve Rogers was. 

Yet again, all his worldly possessions are in a box. Two boxes, actually. He’s grown since he’s been here, accumulated more proof that he’s really here. He hadn’t had the heart to take his easel and his art benches. He didn’t want them there taunting Tony though either so he put them away in storage.

He sets the boxes down and takes a deep breath. His hand trembles and his heart aches as he goes to open the door. He takes a moment to lay his head against the cold, unfamiliar wood. He wills himself not to cry.

He’s still so in love with Tony that it hurts. It still feels like a fresh, open wound, like he’s missing a limb. He doesn’t want to be doing this. He wants to bring his stuff back upstairs where it belongs, where he belongs. He wallows for a good few minutes before he collects himself and turns the doorknob.

A musty scent pours out of the room as soon as the door swings open and the door creaks in protest at being opened again after so long. The room is eerily quiet when Steve steps in and the only movement is the dust swirling in the light pouring in through the cracks in the blinds. Steve sets the boxes down on the bed and takes in the blank gray walls and the cream carpet and the pristinely folded white sheets on the bed.

It’s so empty it’s practically cavernous and more impersonal than a hotel room. He misses the black accent wall in their living room. He misses the dart board with the stick figure drawing of Fury above their couch. He misses the lime green comforter they used when their regular blue one was in the wash.

He opens a window to get rid of the stale smell and turns on the light. It looks vaguely less empty in the light but a thousand times more lonely. He tries to hang up his clothes but his hands are shaking too hard. He can’t do anything but fall onto the bed and bury his head in his hands.

“Do you want us to kill him?”

“Because we’ll totally kill him.”

He looks up to see Natasha and Clint leaning on either side of his door frame. Clint looks sympathetic and Natasha looks absolutely murderous. He feels a little swell of affection for them but still frowns.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” he says and it’s the truth. “I was out of bounds. He had a right to dump me.”

“Okay, but just avoiding the fact that you’re the only thing that makes him even semi-tolerable and he should’ve held on to you forever,” Clint says, stepping into the room and throwing himself on Steve’s desk chair. Natasha follows behind him, quietly shutting the door and curling up next to Steve on the bed. “He’s said a lot of crap to you too. You both have tempers. It doesn’t change that you’re good for one another.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as another twinge of pain rolls through him. Clint’s words, as sweet as they are, don’t help. Because it doesn’t matter that everyone else thinks they should be together. They’re not.

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve grits out. “It’s over. Just act normally and everything will fall back into place again.”

He can see they’re uneasy and he slips into his Captain’s voice easily. It’s easier to be strictly professional anyway.

“Hey, we’re still a team and I need you to act as such,” he says firmly. “I can’t have hostility getting in the way when we’re in battle. So leave any anger you may have about this at the door every morning. Tony’s not going anywhere.”

Clint nods and Natasha just levels him the same look she gives him anytime he tries to call the shots when they’re not actively in the middle of a battle but she doesn’t say anything against him.

They all sit in silence for a bit before Clint gets out of his chair and walks over to Steve’s boxes, rummaging through them shamelessly. “You got anything in here that we can put up to make this place look a little less like a fuckin’ hospital ward?”

Steve snorts out a laugh, happy for the distraction. “Not really. It’s mostly clothing.”

“This is actually unacceptable,” Clint says, eyeing all the wide open space. “Well, since you’re embracing the single life then I have no other choice but to get you the largest, raunchiest piece of wall art that I can find.”

Steve protests as Clint leaps out of the room like a man on a mission. He calls after him for a moment though he knows it’s a lost cause.

“I’ll go get him,” Natasha sighs. She gets up to follow him but pauses at the door.

“He was wrong you know,” she says, looking back at Steve with an uncharacteristic look of tenderness. “To have left you.”

“It is what it is,” he says, weary of talking about it all.

She just frowns and then turns to walk away without another word, leaving him alone in the empty, quiet room.

…

Life goes on. Thor is back on Asguard for the moment and everyone else respects Steve’s wishes and acts as normally as possible and things do slowly go back to normal. Things between Steve and Tony are easy on the battlefield but still strained at home. They’re slowly getting better though. They’ve stopped avoiding each other completely and share meals with the team amiably. They even trade small talk every once in a while. Steve will talk about the weather or what movie is on AMC that night. Tony will mention whatever plans he’s working on in the lab. Tony never joins him to watch the movie and Steve goes to down to the lab but it’s better than nothing.

Betty usually does join him for whatever movie is on AMC that night though. She usually comes to visit a few times a week and things between her and Bruce seem to be going well. It’s nice to see their relationship coming together even when Steve has yet to wake up without feeling the dull hollow ache of loss in his chest. It’s even nicer to have found a new friend in her.

Their Thursday movie nights turn into a team event instead of a date. Clint pulls through on his promise and gets Steve a giant painting of a half-naked man staring lustily out at the viewer. He can see Steve is hesitant so he bolts it into the wall above Steve’s bed with SHIELD tested screws. They finally get Dr. Doom behind bars. He escapes. They get him again. Summer settles in. Betty drags them all to the beach Steve ignores the heat of Tony’s stare on his back as he, Nat, Clint, and Betty play chicken. They have a small party for his birthday. Tony gives him an awkward hug and a set of paint brushes. Steve doesn’t tell him that his supplies are still rotting away in his storage locker. He just smiles a stiff smile and thanks him. He starts visiting Peggy again more regularly, making a habit of bringing her fresh flowers every week. They finally give him a real office at SHIELD HQ and he pours more effort into his extra projects. In late July the team watches as Steve does the media circuit to publicize the new bill he’s helping to push through Congress to decrease wait times at the VA. There’s another, only slightly less awkward hug, when the bill gets pushed through.

They fight. They laugh. They all start to move on.

By the time August rolls through, hot and muggy, Steve still aches and he thinks he might just always be a little heartbroken over Tony Stark. But it’s manageable and life trudges on.

Life, despite everything, goes on.

…

Tony knows it’s a bad idea when he knocks on the door, that he’s crossing one of the many boundaries that they’ve set up since things ended between them, but since when has that ever stopped him before? He’s worried and the only thing that will settle him is seeing Steve, live and whole and _okay._

When Steve answers the door he looks shocked for a moment and then supremely confused and a touch uncomfortable. His uncomfortable eyebrow furrow, shuffle combo makes something twist in Tony’s chest and he’s on the edge again. He can’t stand it most days. Can’t stand how awkward things are between them. Some days he just wants to get in Steve’s face and yell at him, tell him that he misses him. He misses his laugh and his strong arms holding him in a real hug and his stupid sense of humor. That he wants nothing more than to have things back the way they were and that there isn’t a minute that goes by where he doesn’t question if breaking things off was really the right thing to do, or if he should’ve worked harder to save them.

The spilt lip and bruises don’t make him happy either.

“Tony,” Steve says stiffly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just making sure you’re alright,” Tony replies, trying to tamp down on any tenderness that may throw Steve off. His hands twitch to reach out and brush across his lip. “You got shuffled off to the infirmary right away so I didn’t get to make sure you were okay.”

Steve frowns and his eyes get this sad, faraway look and Tony hates this. “I’m fine,” Steve says. “Just a couple of bumps and bruises. I should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Tony says his voice empty and echoing in the hall. “Well. That’s good to hear.”

Steve just nods and awkward silence descends over them for a moment.

“I’ve been going to therapy a little more often,” Tony says just to fill the silence. It wasn’t the optimal choice, really, but word vomit is better than nothing in Tony Stark’s book.

“Oh,” Steve says, obviously a little taken aback. “That’s good. Has it been helping?”

“Yeah, a bit.” It’s true. Tony always thought that if things ended with Steve that he’d fall into a horrible, alcohol-nightmare cocktail, downward spiral and he did for a little while. But it’s gotten better. The pain is still there. The _feelings_ are still there. But he doesn’t feel the urge to drown himself in it anymore.

“Uh.” Steve shuffles again. “I’m watching a Hitchcock marathon on TV. You want to come in and watch?”

Tony’s heart leaps in his chest. Steve hasn’t voluntarily been in the same room alone with him since they broke up. “Yes,” he blurts, practically shoving his way into the room before Steve moves out of the way to let him in. Steve doesn’t comment.

Tony plops himself down on the couch and frowns at how plain everything is. This room is so not Steve. It hurts that he ever thought this was an okay space for him. His eyes scan the room for a stitch of color, of personality, of _Steve_ as the other man comes and settles down on the opposite end of the couch.

He doesn’t find anything, though his eyes do almost bug out of his head when they land on the painting of the young man, legs spread wide open, above Steve’s bed.

“Did you, uh,” Tony can barely form the words as a bolt of jealousy goes through him strong and fast. “Did you paint that?”

Tony’s head spins at the thought of it. It doesn’t matter that Steve isn’t his anymore. The thought of Steve looking at another man like that, being intimate enough to paint him like that, makes Tony see red.

“Ugh, that monstrosity? No, thank God,” Steve says, annoyance heavy in his voice. “You can thank Clint for that. He bolted it into the wall so that I can’t even take it down. I finally got him to agree to put a Caravaggio print in there though so it’ll at least be art historically prescient soft core porn.”

Tony lets out a sigh of relief that is just a touch too obvious judging by the way Steve looks at him like he’s suddenly sprouted three heads. “It’s so great,” he says, scrambling for a cover. “The Caravaggio, I mean.”

Steve narrows his eyes at Tony for a moment before nodding and turning back to the TV, dismissing Tony with a simple, “Uh huh.”

Tony tries to get into _Vertigo_ but his mind can’t help but wander now that the thought is in his head. He scans the room twice and frowns when he doesn’t see Steve’s work bench or his easel. He had been hoping to get a glimpse at whatever Steve was working on. And maybe see if he was using the brushes Tony gave him for his birthday.

“Where’s your art stuff?” Tony asks, apparently the king of word vomit tonight.

Steve stiffens yet again and Tony knows it’s bad when Steve opens his mouth to answer him without even looking away from the television.

“In storage,” Steve says, trying to affect a tone of nonchalance and failing miserably.

“What?” Tony exclaims, highly perturbed by Steve’s answer. “What? Is there not enough room in here or something? Do the windows not give you enough light?”

“No, everything’s fine with the room,” Steve says tightly and Tony knows that everything is most definitely not fine.

“Well, then why aren’t you painting? I don’t even see a sketchpad around here. Have you not been doing any art at all?”

“Tony, just drop it,” Steve snaps, finally looking away from the television to pin Tony with a look that leaves no room for argument. It’d been a long time since Steve had talked to Tony like that and it stung, possibly even more than Steve hiding the real reason why he’d hidden his art supplies away did.

Steve notices his hurt look and softens a bit. “Just don’t worry about it,” he sighs.

Tony turns back to the movie and doesn’t bring it up again that evening. But he never does get into _Vertigo_.

…

Steve’s lungs are burning and his knuckles ache. He’s pretty sure that they’re bleeding underneath his hand wraps. He knows that this isn’t exactly healthy behavior but he figures it’s better than screaming at the top of his lungs like he’s been tempted to do lately.

Steve had been fine with how things were between him and Tony. Well, not _fine,_ but convinced that it was as good as it was going to get. They had finally gotten to a point where it had been tolerable, amicable even, and then Tony had to come uproot all of the things Steve had worked so hard to bury with his mixed messages.

Steve can’t help but think that this is partially his fault. If he hadn’t invited Tony into his room that night, he wouldn’t feel like he’s been run over by an emotional eighteen-wheeler.

Ever since Tony had come to Steve’s room he had taken to ramming through all of the carefully constructed barriers Steve had put between them like it's nothing. He elbows Steve playfully at the kitchen counter, comes to his room with an armful of movies to watch, peeks into the gym while he and Natasha are sparring. He has been systematically throwing away every bit of protection Steve has built in for himself, seemingly trying to build back up some sort of relationship with Steve. But what did he want? Friendship? Steve couldn’t be friends with Tony. Not as long as he still feels the way he does for him.

It was torture. Torture to have Tony so close, acting like there wasn’t anything wrong, but still be denied the one thing he wanted. He supposes that he should be grateful that Tony is so willing to build up a friendship with him, grateful that he can have Tony in any capacity. But in this matter he can’t bring himself to be any but selfish, can’t force his heart to want anything else.

What’s worst is Tony’s unceasing interest in why Steve isn’t using his art supplies. Steve almost feels that every other action Tony’s made is all a part of his main goal, which is to badger Steve until he starts drawing or painting again.  It started the day after the Hitchcock marathon when Tony had come up to him in the kitchen and said, “Hey, are you sure that the storage lockers are the best place for you art supplies? It gets really humid down there in the summer.”

Steve had brushed him off but it hadn’t deterred him for long. Another few days later he cornered Steve in the elevator and said “You know, I asked JARVIS to scan your storage locker and he said that your oil paints are starting to go bad and your pastels are starting to melt. You should probably bring them up before it gets any worse.”

He’d just ignored him and yesterday he had gone up to his room to find his easel and his bench - the one that Tony had made for him with his own two hands, the one that Steve couldn’t even look at without his chest tightening – standing in the corner right  below the biggest window. Steve had marched right downstairs to put them back in storage only for JARVIS to refuse to unlock his locker, no matter how much Steve yelled and demanded to be let in.

Steve was absolutely fuming. Why couldn’t Tony leave well enough alone? Why did he feel it necessary to rip into Steve’s barely healed wounds like it meant nothing?

He hears the ding of the elevator and he hopes that it’s Natasha or Clint for the sake of his sanity and his temper.  

“Hey, Capsicle.”

Of course.

Steve just starts to punch the punching bag even harder, hoping that Tony will get the idea and leave him alone.

“Whoa there,” Tony says, apparently not picking up on Steve’s hostility. “Everything okay?”

Maybe it’s the tone of concern in Tony’s voice or maybe it’s just the culmination of weeks of frustration but something inside Steve snaps and he turns away from the punching bag violently.

“You had no right to move my stuff,” Steve growls, voice loud and turning into a scream as he swiftly gets his breathing under control. “And you definitely had no right to lock me out of my own storage locker!”

Tony looks taken aback, putting up his hands in defense, before saying, “Hey, I was just trying to do something nice for you! You used to love sitting on that bench for hours, it was one of the only things that used to be able to relax you!”

“It _used to_ ,” Steve spits venomously. “But not anymore. So please just take the stuff and put it somewhere, anywhere as long as it’s out of my space, and go. I appreciate the effort but it’s really not needed.”

“What?” Tony asks, dazed. “What do you mean not anymore?”

“Tony, _please,_ ” Steve hisses, teeth grit. “Just go away.”

“No,” Tony says stubbornly, his jaw set. “No, not until you tell me.”

“Tony,” Steve warns.

“You want me to go away big guy,” Tony says tauntingly, getting dangerously closer to Steve.

“ _Tony._ ”

“Just tell me why you’re not drawing anymore and I’ll go-”

“ _Tony ple-”_

“Just tell me!” Tony screams and Steve can’t take it anymore.

“Because you left me!” Steve yells and Tony stumbles back a step, as if that’s the last answer that he expected. He looks at Steve with big, shocked eyes and Steve can’t bring himself to stop. It all comes pouring out of him at once. “Because it’s been three fucking months and I am still trying to pick up pieces of myself and it makes me feel stupid and pitiful and weak! Because I can’t look at that bench or even pick up a pencil or a brush without thinking about how much I still love you and how much it still hurts!”

Tony’s gaping at him, lips moving soundlessly as he searches for something to say in the wake of Steve’s rage and he can’t.

Steve just feels heavy and spent. His eyes are watery and his limbs are weighing him down. “I can’t do it anymore so _please_ Tony, just let me be,” he pleads.

Tony is still just looking at him, stricken and numb. His face is slack and he his eyes are clouded over and indecipherable.

Steve just shakes his head and moves towards the stairs, leaving Tony to his thoughts, whatever they may be.

…

Things go back to how they were after that. The barriers go back up. Tony doesn’t try for anything else other than casual friendliness. Steve almost misses it and it makes him want to punch himself for being so stupidly contrary. But it’s fine. It’s all good and fine. For a while at least.

Then they get the call.

They’ve faced a lot of terrible, frightening, horrifying things together as a team. But every horror they’ve faced pales in comparison to this. Getting the call to go wrangle Bruce, still Hulked-out and out of his mind with fury as Betty hangs over the side of some scaffolding broken and pale, is the hardest thing they’ve ever done. They just barely keep the army at bay, leading the Hulk into a wide-open field in the evacuated park and talking to him until he shifts back into Bruce. When they run over to him he’s shaking and weeping profusely, his balled up fists pressed into his eyes. Steve can barely stand to see such raw anguish on his teammate’s face and can’t even imagine what it must be like for Tony to see one of his closest friends like this. He meet’s Tony’s eyes as Thor undoes his cape and wraps it around Bruce and all he sees is sorrow and regret.

 _I’m sorry_ , Tony mouths and Steve’s resentment, his anger, his pain all seem petty in light of this. He feels it all melt away and he nods, slips off his cowl, and says “Me too.”

…

Steve feels weary as he leaves Bruce’s room, equally unsuccessful at convincing him to eat something as he is at convincing him that this wasn’t his fault, that Betty was fine, that she forgives him. Bruce hadn’t moved from his chair, the same place he was when Steve left him last night, and he had just shook his head, murmuring that he was fool over and over.

Steve jumps in shock when he closes the door behind him and turns to see Tony standing across the hall from him, silently looking at him with an unreadable look.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “I just tried to get him to eat something but he still won’t budge. Maybe you can get him to eat.”

Tony sighs a deep sigh. “Probably not. He hates himself so much right now I don’t think I could get him to do anything.”

Steve huffs angrily, raking his fingers through his hair and saying, “It’s not fair, you know? It’s not his fault. Betty forgives him, she still wants to be with him, wants to see him more than anything, but the more I tell him that the more he refuses to believe me.”

Tony smiles a sad little smile at him and steps across the hallway to stand right in front of him. He brings a hand up to Steve’s cheek and he presses so gently that his touch is just barely there. “You’re such a good man,” Tony says, voice raw and earnest and tender in a way that Steve’s never heard from him before. “You see the best in everyone. It’s obvious to you. But to people like Bruce. Like me…Steve,” he trails off for a moment. “Steve if I ever hurt you like that I’d never forgive myself.”

The air is too thick around them. Steve can hardly breathe. Tony is looking at him so lovingly and so tenderly that he can’t take it. “Tony,” he stutters. “Please don’t say all of this. Nothing’s going to change.”

Tony just brings his other hand to Steve’s face as well. He holds him tightly, grounding him in the moment, as Tony’s face turns determined and resolute. “No. Everything’s going to change, Steve.” His voice is clear and sharp and leaves no room for arguments. “Steve, this is me apologizing for ending things between us. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us. I’m sorry that I caused you pain. Believe me when I say that it nearly killed me to do it. And now this is me, saying that I need you,” Tony’s throat audibly clicks as he swallows. “And that I’ll probably screw up again but I’ll sure as hell never let you go and if there’s any way that you could ever take me back after how enormously I screwed up, _please_.”

Steve lets out a shuddering breath and grips Tony’s wrists tightly, painfully. “You said that we were _destroying_ each other,” Steve says, on the verge of falling apart.

“That was before I knew that I rather bite my tongue for the rest of our lives than not have you,” Tony says with a bitter laugh. “I’m tired, Steve. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of trying to be just friends with you and failing. I’m tired of us both being in pain for no reason.”

Steve still hesitates and Tony can’t take it. He buries his head beneath Steve’s chin and whispers into his collarbone. “I love you.”

Steve’s entire body goes cold and his heart skips a beat. There were many nights after they had broken up where Steve had stared at the wall, his stomach leaden, as he realized that he’d never heard Tony say those words in his life. That their year and a half together had come and gone and Tony had never said those words and he couldn’t help but wonder if that meant that it hadn’t meant anything at all.

All of Steve’s worries float away and he lets out a happy, joyful laugh. Tony lifts his face to look up at him like he’s gone insane but Steve can’t hold himself back any more. He presses his lips to Tony’s for the first time in fourth months, letting the overwhelming joy fill him up to the brim as Tony smiles into their kiss.

Steve paints the most beautiful sunrise the next morning as Tony presses kisses down his neck.

…

Steve moves back into their room. Tony is so thoroughly disgusted with the room and so adamant that they will never separate ever again that he turns the entire floor into a bowling alley. Clint’s stupid frame is still bolted to the wall so Tony buys a real Caravaggio to put in the frame. Steve nearly dies, partially because it’s _a real Caravaggio_ and also partially because it’s a real Caravaggio _in a bowling alley._ Tony just shrugs and tells him that it’s a _classy_ bowling alley now.

The roof time schedule goes back up. Thursday movie nights become alone time again. Tony’s a little disgruntled that they missed out on summer beach time together so he tries strip bowling to compensate. There are a lot of suspiciously obvious gutter balls.

They try doing a joint anniversary celebration with Betty and Bruce in the hopes that showing how far they’ve come and celebrating it might help advance their tentative, hesitant attempts at being together again. But Betty’s still in her casts and Bruce ends up leaving halfway through dinner.

To say the least, it doesn’t go to plan.

But they end up together on their roof just like they had the year before, legs tangled together beneath a blanket. Tony freaks out when they see the neon maracas are now accompanied by a neon burrito. When Steve tells Tony that he loves him Tony says it back, loud and proud, yelling it down to the street like a crazy man.

And they’re good. They’re happy and they’re in love and they’re _good._

…

“Hey babe, look at this. We made the cover of _The National Inquirer!_ ”

Steve glances down the register to where Tony is leaning on their cart and flipping through the gossip rags furiously and not helping him load their giant cart of groceries onto the belt at all. Their cashier, a girl who can’t be over the age of seventeen, looks on bug eyed.

She asks for their store card tremulously and nearly faints when Steve hands it to her with a smile. 

“Apparently I’m cheating on you with Clint and it’s tearing the team apart. Geez, you think they’d give me a better side piece. Are you aware that he sleep-walked into our room again last night?”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says absently as he digs around for the floss so that all the toiletries can be neatly stacked together in one bag. “But I’m not surprised. I tried to tell him to go for that sleep test thing that SHIELD offers but he didn’t bite.”

“Birdbrain,” Tony mutters as he scans the rest of the article, snorting as he glosses over the details. “You should hear what your reaction to it has been.”

“I’m devastated, I’m sure,” Steve replies flatly, never having been able to understand Tony’s fascination with all the fake press out there about them. “Tony, which brand of toothpaste is it that Thor likes again?” He looks down at the bottle of Crest suspiciously.

“None is the correct answer to that question. Thor likes chewing on mint leaves. But I think Bruce got him to come around to Crest.”

Steve shrugs and puts the box up on the belt, moving onto the produce.

“And you’ve put together a harem, by the way, in reaction to my torrid affair. But your main squeeze is none other than Justin Hammer.”

“Tony, could you hand me the bananas?” Steve asks.

“I’ll give you a banana,” Tony says with a lewd smirk and eyebrow waggle.

“Tony, _really_?” Steve says rolling his eyes. He’s smiling a little, that twitchy half smile he gets when he doesn’t want to be amused but he is anyway. Tony knows his annoyance is just for show when Steve says, “Maybe I put together my harem so that I could have people who help me check out at the supermarket.”

“Okay, okay, I got the hint,” Tony says, setting the magazine aside to hand Steve the bananas as well as some other fruits and vegetables. “I hope you know that I’m highly offended on your behalf that they seem to think that you would lower your standards enough to sleep with _Justin Hammer._ There are so many wittier, more handsome piss ants who’ve tried to take me down roaming around out there.”

“Good to know the whole harem thing doesn’t faze you at all,” Steve says, moving onto the meat.

“I mean, if we’re dealing with some crazy twilight zone where I’m cheating on _you_ with _Clint_ it’s totally possible for you to be keeping a harem in the tower,” Tony says, sneaking on a pack of M&M’s while Steve hauls a value pack of spilt chicken breasts onto the belt. “However, you and Justin Hammer wouldn’t be a thing in any universe. Your judgment would never be _that_ impaired.”

“Mhmm,” Steve says slyly. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you putting those M&M’s up there.”

“Oh yeah,” Tony teases. “Did you see me put the Babe Ruth up there for you too?”

Steve pauses, holding the last thing in their cart (a box of Ritz crackers) for a moment, before saying, “Thanks, Tony.”

Tony blows him a kiss and says, “Anything for you, Hotlips.”

The cashier nearly chokes on her own spit.

…

“Steve?” Tony calls as he walks into their room. “Steve, I’m home and honestly a little disappointed that it was Betty who greeted me after being away for two weeks.”

Tony glances around their empty apartment confused, scanning every corner of the room for any sign of Steve. “She was making cookies so I guess it wasn’t that bad,” Tony says just for the noise, just to distract from the devastating silence that’s starting to make Tony panic a little. “Still rather kiss you.”

That’s when he finally hears it. He hears a little sob-sniffle coming from behind the bathroom door. “Steve?” he asks and he hears it again.

He’s at the door in an instant, practically throwing himself on the knob and flinging himself inside. “What’s the matter? Are you hu-?”

Steve’s sitting on the edge of their tub with his head hung heavy between his shaking shoulders. “Hey,” Tony whispers as he crawls down onto his knees before Steve. He tries to cup Steve’s face between his hands but Steve is curled in on himself, not leaving an inch of room for Tony.

Tony scans Steve’s body, making sure he’s not hurt anywhere. His hands settle on Steve’s forearms, squeezing them reassuringly as he tries to figure out what’s wrong.

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me here sweetheart,” Tony tries, trying to keep his voice soothing. Steve just rubs his palms roughly across his face, wiping the tears away.

“It’s nothing,” Steve mumbles and Tony’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s something,” Tony says sarcastically. “Unless you frequently cry in our bathroom. Which, if you do, raises a lot of questions.”

Steve just shakes his head so Tony jokes, “Are you pregnant? Because if it’s that then I have even more questions than I would have if the frequent crying thing was true.”

Steve snorts, a snotty, teary snort, but a definite noise of amusement and Tony smiles because if it’s one thing that he’s good at in this relationship it’s his ability to pry a laugh out of Steve at any given moment.

It’s quiet for a moment and Tony resists the urge to push for more. His patience is rewarded when Steve clears his throat and says, “Uh, I went to bring Peggy flowers like I always do a couple of days ago and the room was empty.”

Tony’s heart sinks. He knows where this is going but he stays where he is and just nods. “Go on,” he says, gently encouraging Steve to continue.

“So I asked the nurses and they said that she had died the day before,” he says and Tony’s heart breaks at how hard he’s trying to keep his voice steady. “They said it was in her sleep. Real peaceful. The funeral was this morning.”

“Oh, Steve,” Tony sighs, moving his hands up to his face to wipe the tears away and haul him close for a hug. “Did you go alone?”

Steve nods against Tony’s neck.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come home. Why didn’t you tell _anyone_? I know for a fact that anyone in this house would have gone with you. Hell, Betty would’ve gone with you and she doesn’t even live here.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, shrugging and avoiding Tony’s eyes when he backs out of their hug. “I guess, I just don’t want anyone thinking that I mourn that part of my life, you know? I’m happy here with the team. With you.”

“Steve, you are the most important thing in the world to me,” Tony says, trying to be as earnest and serious as possible. “But if something happened to Pepper, I’d go off the deep end. She meant something to you. That doesn’t change how you feel about us.”

“I know,” Steve says, his eyes still watery but affectionate. He lets his head fall on Tony’s shoulder. “I know I was being stupid.”

“Ah, can you say that again so that I can record it?” Tony says with a grin, as he threads his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve huffs out a laugh and pokes him in the ribs. Tony wiggles and laughs but still says, “Hey J, please tell me that you recorded that for me?”

“I’m sorry sir,” JARVIS says, prim and proper as always. “But I didn’t think it was an appropriate moment to save.”

“Your computer has more sense than you do,” Steve mutters into Tony’s shirt.

“Well I programmed him so…” He trails off, looking down at Steve’s head. “You okay, beautiful?”

Steve looks up at him with a crooked grin and nods. “Yeah. I’m happy that you’re home.”

He presses his lips to Tony’s for that long awaited, much anticipated kiss and hums into it.

“You taste like chocolate chip cookies,” Steve says against his lips.

Tony smiles, “That woman bakes like a crazy person. I may have had two before I came up here. Or four hundred.”

Steve just laughs. “They are excellent cookies.”

…

“This is priceless,” Clint says around a hearty laugh. Steve just rests his head in his free hand and wonders how the hell this is his life.

His other hand is currently clasped between both of Tony’s clammy hands as he waxes poetically about Steve’s chin.

It had been a really simple procedure to fix some torn cartilage in Tony’s knee. It had been done in fifteen minutes and only left two small incisions on his knee. But the doctors had needed to put him under anesthesia anyway so…

“Are you sure that you’re my _boyfriend_? I fuckin’ lucked out on that one.”

“Aww, it’s so sweet,” Betty chirps from the chair she’s sharing with Bruce on the other side of Tony’s hospital bed. “But should we really be recording it? It feels like we’re taking advantage of a sick man.”

“I mean,” Clint hems and haws from behind the camera. “But it’s Tony so….”

Tony chooses that moment to groan, “Oh my God, I bet you have a fantastic ass. Please do a twirl for me. _Please._ ”

Steve most definitely does not twirl. In fact he just buries his face further into his hand and thanks God that Natasha went with Thor to the vending machines because he knows that she’d never let him live down how red he’s turning.

“So it’s blackmail?” Bruce asks, calmly amused from behind Betty, his arms wrapped tightly around her midsection.

“Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer to say that we’re preserving this moment for posterity.”

“Wow, I must love you so much,” Tony slurs and Steve lifts his head, surprised by the random moment of tenderness.

“You do,” Steve says quietly, meeting Tony’s out of focus, faraway eyes.

And just as quickly as that moment came, it’s gone again when Tony bursts into a screechy, off key version of “Endless Love” and Clint starts laughing so hard Steve’s actually concerned that he might hurt himself.

“Oh my god,” Clint says, voice ragged and breathy as he fights to get air into his lungs between laughs. “Oh my god, I think that I’m going to die.”

Steve thinks that he may just die too as all of the blood in his body slowly pools in his face.

…

On their third anniversary they go on a picnic in the park, just like the one that kicked off their entire relationship. 

They come back to their roof like they always do once the sun’s set. Winter’s settled in early this year and it’s starting to snow a little so they can’t stay out too long. But they still look down at the lights of the city together like they always do. Tony squawks in protest when he sees the neon maracas and burrito are gone and replaced by a simple CURRY & VINDALOO sign. Steve tells him that he loves him. Tony says that he loves him too.

Overall, it’s the best anniversary they’ve had yet.

…

“This is so stupid,” Tony groans. “This is literally the stupidest thing.”

Tony doesn’t really have a lot of leverage here as he’s chained to a chair and surrounded by four scarily large men with even scarier large guns but Tony’s never really learned when it’s a good time to shut up.

“Don’t you know when to keep your mouth shut?! I could end your life with a swish of my hand!” M.O.D.O.K screeches and Tony rolls his eyes. Because really? The guy looks like a floating gnome and sounds like a shrill nine year old throwing a temper tantrum.

Honestly, Tony isn’t surprised this happened. He’d be waiting since the moment they got together for some supervillian to try and kidnap one of them to use as bait. What he is surprised about is that it’s M.O.D.O.K because honestly he always imagined that it would be someone a little more intimidating.

“Okay, so about that, killing me would only make Cap more pissed than he already is and he’s already at rip your face off levels of anger so that would be a pretty bad move on your part.” And if it is one thing that he regrets about this whole thing it’s the panicked look that had flashed across Steve’s face when M.O.D.O.K had hacked into the tower’s systems and had a little video chat with the team earlier.

Before M.O.D.O.K can respond a series of alarms go off and the screens around them come to life.  M.O.D.O.K cackles happily when the team comes into view on the screen and Tony just shrugs.

“See, that’s what rip your face off anger looks like,” Tony says as he sees Steve ram his shield into some poor thug’s neck.

M.O.D.O.K still cackles though and says, “Oh just you wait Stark!”

Tony watches as the team advances farther into the room, the others hanging back behind Cap and waiting for their orders. Steve looks just about ready to open his mouth and start doling out orders when the floor tiles beneath Steve’s feet buckle, causing him to fall backward and his shield to go skittering back towards the team.

Before anyone can go to help him, before they can even toss his shield back to him, an electric force field bursts out of the ground and separates Steve from the group and leaves him defenseless. Tony starts to panic for the first time since this whole ordeal started.

“You’ve been stripped of your defenses Captain America,” M.O.D.O.K squeals into his microphone. “And I assure you that my men outnumber you alone in droves. Surrender yourself so that I can use my superior intellect to decode the mystery of Erskine’s formula or Stark dies!”

The gunman behind Tony steps forward and digs the muzzle of his gun into the back of Tony’s head at the same time the guy on the left digs a tiny triangular blade into his shoulder. Tony cries out in pain, apparently loud enough for the microphone to pick it up judging by the way Steve entire body seems to flinch.

M.O.D.O.K cackles again and now Tony is the one who’s tempted to rip his face off. “I’ll give you five minutes to make your decision.” All the screens go dark.

“Really?” Tony yells, struggling against the restraints. The blade in his shoulder stings when he moves and the barrel of the gun digs further into his skull but he doesn’t even care. “You can’t even fight fair, you fucking ass?”

Tony hears a loud smashing noise from below but he doesn’t give it any thought. He’s thoroughly distracted by his righteous anger, especially when M.O.D.O.K hisses and orders one of his men to gag him. The guy’s just finished tying the gag behind Tony’s head when the room explodes into action.

One of Natasha’s widow’s bites flies through the air and attaches onto M.O.D.O.K’s face, overpowering him and allowing the Hulk to come smashing through and smash him into the ground. The gunmen scatter across the room. They move so fast that Tony’s chair falls over sideways and the fall pushes the knife deeper into his side but all he feels is relief as he sees Cap’s shield fly above him. Between Clint, Steve, and Thor, the gunmen and the other remaining henchmen from outside are dispatched quickly.

When all the men are down Steve rushes over to Tony, cradling his head in his hands and looking worriedly at the pool of blood beneath him. Thor quickly rights the chair so that Tony isn’t bleeding out onto the concrete as Clint gets to work on the chains around his wrists and Natasha works on his ankles.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, trying to sound soothing and only sounding shaken. He gingerly removes the gag from Tony’s mouth and strokes Tony’s cheek. The rough leather of Steve’s gloves makes for a less then tender touch but Tony leans into it nonetheless.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Have a knife dug into my shoulder, so I’ve been better,” Tony says, forcing a smile so that Steve will stop looking like the world is about to end. “But I’m happy that you’re here. I was worried there for a sec with the, ya know, giant wall of electricity.”

“Hulk ran through it like it was nothing and smashed the circuit breaker,” Steve explains. “We were able to get through his ‘droves’ pretty easily after that.”

The Hulk grunts proudly and Tony says, “Good job, big guy. I owe you one. Again.”

Clint finally pries off the chains from around his wrists and Tony brings his hands forward to rest over Steve’s on his cheeks. “I was worried for a second there that you’d give yourself over,” he whispers, eyes getting heavy from exhaustion. And blood loss too, probably.

“Nah,” Steve says, trying to keep his tone light and failing. “It’ll take more than M.O.D.O.K to outsmart any of us. But, I would’ve if I had to. If I knew it would keep you safe.” Steve shakes him a little when he sees that Tony’s eyes are nearly completely closed. When Tony’s refocused on him Steve shoots him a nearly blinding smile that’s a little forced around the edges and says, “I could never leave my best guy behind.”

Tony feels faint. And he’s sure it’s only partially due to blood loss.

…

Tony’s pretty sure his brain is fried. It’s gone. It’s completely dead, gone, and seized in perpetual awe at the sight of Steve Rogers in yoga pants _doing yoga._

“Tony!” Betty says happily, apparently completely unaware of his complete internal crisis. “I’m teaching the boys some yoga! I’m starting them off with the downward facing dog, what do you think?”

Tony’s eyes go from Betty, who’s happily sitting in the lotus position like _there isn’t a live demonstration of the kama sutra going on to her right_ , to Bruce who’s face is turning a little red as he hangs over uncomfortably and then back to Steve. Tony’s brain nearly short-circuits for a record breaking second time in as many minutes when Steve shifts his legs further forward and apart. His upside down face is smirking at Tony from between his legs in a way that tells him that he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing and Tony is left babbling like an idiot.

“I- I, uh…” He can’t. There are no words for how not okay this is.

Betty apparently takes that as her cue to just move on as she says, “Okay, now down into the plank position! Just like I showed you before!”

Tony moves around to stand next to Betty as they move down because he’s positive that if he stays staring at Steve’s ass for much longer he’s either explode or do something very inappropriate in front of poor, innocent Betty.

Betty decides to join in on the plank, getting into position and saying, “Just hold that position as long as possible and then go into the cobra!”

Steve lifts his head and shoots another smirk at Tony when the other two are looking at the ground and Tony’s mouths, _You are evil. So so evil._

Steve goes into the cobra just a little too fast at that, practically grinding his hips into the mat beneath him and Tony’s jaw hits the floor as the bastard winks at him.

Tony’s going to kill Betty Schaer.

He watches as Steve slithers onto his back and goes into the bridge position without prompting.

Maybe he’ll thank Betty Schaer with a five million dollar gift card to Williams Sonoma too. He’s still on the fence about it.

…

“What’s this?” Tony asks as he strolls into their bedroom to find Steve putting on an unfamiliar suit.

“Remember I told you that SHIELD had me approve some new designs for the suit a while back? When they wanted to add more padding to cushion the blow when I fall?” Steve says, sliding his arms into the sleeves and zipping the suit up along the front. “This is it. What do you think?”

Tony smiles, highly amused. The Cap suit was ridiculous when it was accompanied by the matching boots, gloves, and cowl but Tony always gets an extra kick out of it when he sees Steve in just the suit. Something about him walking around with his hands and socks sticking out is infinitely entertaining.

The new suit is definitely a little bulkier with padding. The color palette is muted, more gray and silver than red, white, and blue, but it still has the giant star and stripes on his chest. They’d added chevrons and some other military symbols on his arms to make up for the lack of flair.

“It’s nice. I’m going to miss the obnoxious colors when I’m trying to find you from up in the air,” Tony says, padding over to run his hands over Steve’s ridiculously padded torso. “But, if it keeps you safe I would be fine with you wearing a paper bag. It’s still nomex and kevlar?”

“Yep,” Steve says with a nod. “And as far as safety goes, Coulson was the lead designer on this so I think it’s as safe as it gets.”

Steve’s obviously teasing him and Tony falls right into his trap, grumbling “The man should’ve stayed dead if he was just going to come back to flirt with my boyfriend.”

“Aww, come on,” Steve says, tone still heavily teasing as he ducks down to press kisses all along Tony’s jaw. “You don’t mean that.”

Tony’s about to spew out a cranky response when his hands run over two rough patches on Steve’s bicep. He looks down and something catches in this throat at what he sees.

“Steve? Did you ask for these?”

“Huh?” Steve twists his head to look back at the patches, a large smile blooming across his face when he sees them. “I didn’t ask for the Avengers one. I gave Coulson a sketch for the other one but I wasn’t sure if he’d actually put in it.”

There are two small patches on Steve’s left bicep, so tiny that you wouldn’t notice them unless you were standing right next to Steve. One is a small letter A that matches the logo on top of the Avengers tower. The other, right below the A, is a small circle that’s half Steve’s shield and half Tony’s arc reactor.

“I wanted to have a little piece of us on me when I was fighting,” Steve says with a shy, little crooked smile. Like this isn’t the grandest gesture anyone’s ever made for Tony.

Tony doesn’t know what to say. His mouth is working to form words but he can’t find any. He’s honestly struck speechless for the first time in his life with how overwhelmingly touched he is.

“You still mad at Coulson?” Steve teases. He’s way too proud of the fact that he rendered Tony speechless.

Tony kisses him anyway.

…

On their fourth anniversary Tony surprises Steve when he takes him into the bowling alley to find the neon maracas and burrito hanging on the wall on either side of the Caravaggio. Part of Steve is distressed that such a beautiful, important piece of art is surrounded by two of the kitschiest things in the word. But he’s mostly touched that Tony searched for them for him.

Steve insists that they try to redo the joint anniversary dinner again now that everyone’s relationship is healthy and thriving even though Tony tries to dissuade him with a fervor that makes Steve instantly suspicious. It ends up not mattering anyway since the plans end up falling through. There’s a city wide blackout and all the restaurants are closed because apparently cooking in the dark is a bad idea.

So they just stay at home in bed. The tower is one of the only buildings with power thanks to the arc reactor but they dim all the lights so as not to blind the good people of New York in the pitch darkness. Tony sends Steve upstairs to the roof with their trusty blanket and a ton of candles while he goes into the kitchen and puts together something for them to eat.

When he gets up to the roof he just has to stop and admire the sight of Steve walking back and forth across the roof in his PJ’s and bedhead lighting candle after candle. He looks beautiful illuminated by the soft glow. The sounds of the city are muted and the sky is so dark that it’s easy to believe that they’re in their own little private bubble.

Steve smiles at him when he notices his presence and says, “Well, it’s not what we’re used to but it’s still pretty great.” He turns his face up towards the sky and Tony follows his gaze.

The stars are bright and visible in the absence of the blinding lights below and Tony’s not even sure that he’s ever seen this many stars over Manhattan before.

“Wow,” he says. “What a view.”

“I’ll say.”

Tony looks over and sees that Steve is staring at him and he snorts at his cheesiness but he brings the food over and settles in beside him anyway. Steve takes the plate gratefully and digs in enthusiastically. Tony’s been on edge all day, a little nervous at the thought of what he might do tonight. He’d thought that he would have to put it off when Steve had insisted on having Bruce and Betty tag along but now they’re here and they’re alone and it seems like almost the perfect moment sitting among the candles and the darkness.  

Tony’s shaking a bit and his mouth is dry but he’s sure that he wants to do this. After four years, he’s surer about this than he’s ever been about anything in his life.

“Steve,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about. Something private, something I didn’t want to talk about with Bruce and Betty around.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and surprised for a moment. He drops his sandwich and pushes it to the side and for a moment Tony’s worried that Steve’s caught on before he’s even begun his speech. But then Steve opens his mouth and says, “Is this about the weird sex thing I asked you about the other day? Because I swear I didn’t know it was a sex thing when I asked you and it didn’t even sound remotely appealing.”

“Oh my god,” Tony says, his body flooding with relief as he rolls his eyes. “No, it’s not about the weird sex thing. However, if you ever want to revisit that conversation-”

“And I assure you I won’t,” Steve interjects, though Tony still barrels on.

“Well if you ever do, I’d be open to discussion because I promise that I’ll always be down for anything with you until I physically can’t get it up anymore. And at that point I demand that you just take me out back and shoot me.”

“Tony!” Steve squawks.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” Tony says, trying to smooth out the situation again. He even shelves his joke about penis pumps and everything. He lifts his hand up to wipe a piece of lettuce away from the corner of Steve’s face in the hopes of distracting him and says, “Suffice it to say, my question was not about the weird sex thing.”

“Then what was it?”

And this is it.

“Uh,” Tony starts, wanting to draw out as much time as possible so that he can get the words exactly right. He finally settles on just ripping off like a band aid. “I’m not perfect,” he spits out and Steve looks like that’s the last thing he was expecting Tony to say.

“I’m really not. I’m always going to childish and stubborn. I’m always going to have a temper and I’m always going to be insecure. But I’m smart enough to know a good thing when I see it and Steve you are the _best thing._ So,” he pauses to dig the ring box out of his pocket and when he looks back up at him Steve is beaming, which he takes as a good sign.

“So, Steve Rogers,” Tony says, pouring all his heart and soul into his words. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

Steve’s starting to tear up but he’s still smiling and after a beat he starts nodding enthusiastically and Tony feels simultaneously relieved and overjoyed when Steve says a simple, "Yes, I love you, I will.”

Tony slips on the simple gold ring. It’s not much but he knew Steve would love it and really, it’s just a place holder until they pick out their wedding bands together. Steve tackles him to the ground the second the ring is on and covers him with kisses.

It’s all very romantic until the blanket catches fire. But the moment suits them just fine.

…

Tony looks down at Steve in their bed and focuses on the steady up and down movement of Steve’s chest to center him.

“Tony, don’t look at me like that,” Steve pleads. “I had to do it. And the doctor said I’ll be fine. I won’t even need skin grafts thanks to the serum. Just rest and fresh bandages twice a day.”

Tony still isn’t buying it, looking steadily at Steve chest and not at the heavy bandages around his hands and neck. “You didn’t have to go in there Steve. That was a chemical fire. It was well over a thousand degrees. You’re lucky you’re still alive!”

“Well I couldn’t let those people die either!” Steve exclaims and Tony knows it’s going to be an argument if he pushes any further and he really doesn’t want to fight with Steve right now.  He falls down beside him on the bed and burrows his face into the blankets by Steve’s knee.

“I’m sorry that I scared you,” Steve whispers and Tony just burrows in further.

“Did they take anything off of me when they took me into the burn unit?” Steve asks and the way he says it makes Tony think that he’s asking about something very specific though Tony can’t imagine what.

“They cut off your suit but it’s garbage now anyway,” Tony replies, not sure how to respond. “Coulson’s probably already ordered a new one though.”

“What about my ring?” He sounds so distraught that Tony is almost touched. He probably would be if Steve had sounded even half as distraught over almost dying.

“Steve, that fire was so hot it practically disintegrated your gloves. If the ring did manage to survive it was probably a mangled mess by the time they got you out,” Tony explains, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“So it’s gone?” Steve sounds like he’s on the brink of tears and Tony wants to hug him but is afraid to even touch him, to dislodge something vital or cause him pain. Tony just nods and squeezes Steve’s knee as comfortingly as possible.

“I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“Are you seriously apologizing to me for your ring melting off your finger right now?” Tony snaps. “I couldn’t care less about the ring.”

The look on Steve’s face says that while Tony might not care, he most certainly does and it pulls on Tony’s heartstrings.

“I was saving this for closer to the wedding but I guess now’s the perfect time,” Tony says, going over to his night table and pulling out a thick metal band.

“It’s vibranium,” Tony explains as he crawls back into bed beside Steve. “Just like your shield. The old man had a couple of scraps hidden away in the workshop that I was saving for a special occasion. I wanted it to be your wedding ring but it’ll do. Especially since it’s virtually indestructible and you don’t know the definition of pushing your limits.”

He holds it up so that Steve can get a good look at it and the simple inscription of their initials on the inside of the band.

“It’s perfect,” Steve says. “But I’d like to wear it as my wedding ring too. You okay with me not wearing a ring until then?”

“I’d be okay with nearly anything if you agreed to never walk into a burning building again.”

“I can’t promise that,” Steve says ruefully. “But I can promise to try not to be reckless if you promise the same.”

Tony sighs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

…

“So I’ve called you all here for a reason,” Tony says, laying index cards and pencils in front the three men sitting across the table from him. Bruce, Clint, and Coulson all look at him with the same look of disinterest and mild confusion as he talks. “And that reason is that I am marrying Steve Rogers in a little over a month and he has requested that we write our own vows. The problem with this is that knowing him, his vows are going to be unnervingly perfect and I don’t want to let him down with my inability to speak genuinely from my heart.”

“Are you seriously asking us to write your wedding vows for you right now?” Clint asks, voice laden with disbelief. “Because that can’t possibly be a thing you expect us to do.”

“He’s going to need the help,” Coulson says, shooting him a steely cool look. “I overheard Captain Rogers talking about how he proposed the other day and apparently he spent the majority of it listing off his major character flaws.”

“Really? How fucking lame,” Clint says and Bruce lets out a muffled chuckle.

“Guys, I am actually standing right in front of you,” Tony says, defensively. “And he said yes so obviously it wasn’t that bad.”

“You have to admit this is a little weird, Tony,” Bruce says, trying to divert Tony with his soothing tones and logic. “This isn’t something we can help you with. Just tell him how much you love him. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, I mean,” Clint scrunches up his face in thought and then says, “You can mention that he’s pretty good with that shield and that his ass is pretty bangin’ too, I guess.”

“Neither one of you are of any help,” Tony says, leaning over the table and snatching their index cards and pencils while Clint screeches in offense. “I tell him those things every day. None of those things are vow worthy. Agent, you’re my last hope here.”

Coulson closes his eyes for a moment, turning over the words in his head for a moment before saying, “Say: Steve Rogers, I spent my entire childhood hearing stories about you. About how kind and strong and brave you are. But nothing prepared me for the real thing. You are the strongest, most compassionate soul on this earth and one of the only true heroes the world has ever seen. I admire and love every piece of you and cannot believe that I am the one you’ve chosen to spend your life with. I vow to always strive to be better for you. I vow to be there for you through every tough decision and every happy moment. And most of all, I vow to always love you, until the end of my days.”

The table goes dead silent for a few moments before Tony blurts out, “You need to go.”

“What?” Phil says, honestly shocked. “I thought it was good.”

“Yeah, it was amazing, in fact write it down before you go,” Tony says, his possessive streak flaring to life like never before. “It’s just that things got a little too real for a moment there, bud.”

Phil starts to get up though he’s rolling his eyes, which probably means that he’s not that impressed by Tony’s defense of his relationship. “If I was going to steal Steve Rogers away from you, I would’ve done it years ago,” he says casually, as if he’s telling Tony that it’s a little rainy outside so he should take an umbrella. Tony gapes at him like a fish out of water, watching him go without even having the decency to write down the love poem he just spewed about _Tony’s fiancé_ before he leaves.

Thank God that JARVIS records nearly everything.

It’s still silent for a few moments after Coulson leaves until Clint blinks and says, “What in the actual fuck just happened?”

…

Tony falls into his lap still laughing and humming along to “Star Spangled Man” which had played in the background of the slideshow SHIELD had just played in honor of his hundredth birthday. Steve narrows his eyes in warning at Tony and when he just starts to sing along quietly into Steve’s ear, Steve bites his shoulder in retaliation.

“Ow!” Tony says, hamming it up for effect. “This is how you treat the man that you’re going to be marrying in a month on this very roof.”

The sun is just starting to set and Thor and Clint are starting to pile up the fireworks under the watchful eye of Fury and Maria Hill. The air still smells heavily of charcoals and barbeque sauce and firecrackers. It has been a perfect day with his friends on the roof on the tower, barbequing and relaxing and enjoying the day.

“Yep,” Steve replies, popping the p with a sassy grin and Tony just has to kiss him until it fades away. They don’t break apart until they hear a chorus of wolf whistles and gagging noises and even then they don’t go far. Tony rests his forehead on Steve with a happy little sigh and Steve just smiles.

“How do you feel about marrying a centenarian?” Steve teases.

“I’m vaguely unfazed about the whole thing since I’m marrying a centenarian with a better refractory period than me,” Tony says. “Maybe even a tad bit disgruntled.”

Steve just laughs and dives in for another happy kiss that is disrupted by Betty yelling, “Okay guys, everybody gather around! It’s cake time!”

Natasha rather rudely pushes Tony off of Steve’s lap. He glares at her a little but doesn’t go far, standing right behind Steve and singing Happy Birthday to him at the top of his lungs when the cake is put down on the table.

When everyone is done singing, Tony leans down and whispers into Steve’s ear, “Make a wish, sweetheart.”

His heart still skips a beat when he sees Steve smile broadly, eyes dancing in the candle light, before blowing out the candles to the sound of everyone’s happy cheers.

…

When it was Tony’s turn to walk down the aisle after Steve he teared up a little. He’s not going to lie about it. Steve was a little weepy too. It’s totally fine, it’s what people do at weddings and in his defense Steve already looks ridiculously attractive in his dress greens. He’s practically defenseless against the tears.

But nothing prepared him for Steve’s vows. He had not be ready for how Steve would take Tony’s hands in his and look at him so intently, with so much love and awe embedded into every word he spoke. He had said, “Tony, there are no words for how much you mean to me. You offered me a home when I was lost, you befriended me even when I pushed you away, and you pulled together the family I never thought that I could have again after I got out of the ice. You are the most obstinate, insane, loving, selfless man that I have ever met and I love every inch of you. I vow to lend you my strength whenever you need it and always be there to catch you when you fall. I vow to always be someone who can live up to the strength of your loyalty and affection. And last but not least, I vow to love you and give you my best for the rest of my days.”

So now Tony’s crying and holding his index cards like a fool. Steve’s smiling at him lovingly, gently encouraging him like the perfect human being that he is and it kind of makes everything worse. Tony looks down at the cards with the words that aren’t his written on it and his stomach sinks. Steve had given him the most beautiful, truest words that he could.

Tony’s hands shake as he tucks the cards back into his pocket and grasps Steve’s hands in his. He doesn’t think about it too hard, doesn’t allow himself to freak out. He just looks into Steve’s happy, teary eyes and says, “You are my everything. You are my best friend. You are my moral compass. You are the reason I get out of bed in the morning. You are the reason I laugh and smile and _breathe_ so freely that I wonder how I ever did it without you.” He watches as the tears slowly pool in Steve’s eyes and overflow but Steve only clutches him tighter and looks at him with a look that is so intense that it bores into his soul and all the things he thought he’d never say aloud come pouring out. “You are the stutter in my heart and the fire in my veins and the joy in my soul and I vow to never take that for granted. I vow to protect you with all that I’ve got. I vow to always make you laugh, even when you don’t want to. Especially when you don’t want to.” Tony’s heart leaps in delight when Steve actually laughs a little. “And most of all, I vow to always try to be worthy of your love.”

Steve’s crying. Tony’s crying. Tony can hear Betty crying from here. A quick glance out at the crowd shows that pretty much everyone is crying. Even Natasha seems to have shed a tear or two but Tony writes it off as sweat since he’s pretty sure that Natasha had her tear ducts removed as an infant.

Tony lets out a sigh of relief.

He did good.

…

Steve turns to face his new husband after having properly thanked Betty for her attempts at swing dancing with him and lifts an eyebrow.

“You had an outfit change?” Steve asks. Tony’s switched out his tux for a more relaxed button up top and some slacks.

“Of course, I had to go all out for our wedding. Minimum three costume changes like Mariah Carey.”

“Who?” Steve asks, still a little behind on pop culture references.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony says, brushing it off. “The important thing is _my_ outfit change. You like?”

“Uh,” Steve hesitates. “It’s very orange. It’s…nice.”

Tony rolls his eyes but pulls Steve closer and into his arms for a dance anyway. “Lying to me about what I’m wearing, already? You’re settling into being a husband nicely.”

Steve perks up adorably at the mention of being a husband and just says, “I’m not lying. I appreciate the effort even though it’s not your color.”

“And what is my color, Mr. Artist?”

“Red. Hot rod red. Cherry red,” Steve replies with a secretive little smile, like he always does when he tells an inside joke.

“Orange,” Tony murmurs. “That’s still the most interesting thing about you.”

“Really?” Steve says, unimpressed as he sways to the beat. “After all these years trying to impress you.”  

“Oh, the list is about a million items long now,” Tony says, looking at Steve like he’s crazy for thinking that Tony could ever think that Steve’s favorite color was the _only_ interesting thing about him. “Orange is still my favorite thing though.”

“Why?” Steve asks. “Orange is a great color.”

“Except how statistically it really isn’t. Less than 3% of the general population identify orange as their favorite color. People hate orange,” Tony swallows thickly. “In fact, most people can’t stand orange. I mean, sure orange is a fun color at parties or nice to wear for a night out but people don’t commit to orange. Most people don’t even objectively like orange for its aesthetic beauty or even appreciate its importance in the color wheel. But, you love…orange.”

Steve leans down to kiss Tony, long and deep and full of love, before saying, “I really, _really_ love orange a lot.”

Tony just smiles and rests his forehead against Steve’s, basking in the moment before groaning. “So, this may be a bad moment to tell you, but I requested a special song for you.”

“What kind of song?” Steve asks hesitantly.

“…Not a bad song, per se.”

“Tony.”

“Just not a song you would probably exactly appreciate as much as I, or say, Clint would.”

“ _Tony,_ what. Song?”

Tony’s just about to open his mouth to delay the inevitable a little bit longer when it happens. The lights go dim and the band starts playing the opening notes to “My Heart Will Go On.”

Steve goes stock still with mortification. Clint laughs so loud Tony can hear him from across the room. Everyone else is generally confused.

Really, it’s as good as Tony could hope for their wedding to go. Besides, he knows Steve won’t care at the end of the day. Because if it’s one thing that Steve understands about Tony, it’s his stubbornness to never let a good joke die and his snark in the face of opposition.

And Steve always forgives him in the end anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr at captain--sunshine.tumblr.com.


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